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Dear  Ann  Wilde,— 

It  seems  to  me  that  there  are,  broadly  speaking,  three 
kinds  of  mothers.  First,  there  is  the  kind  that  does  not  plan 
for,  or  want,  a  child,  but,  having  borne  one,  invariably  takes 
the  high  air  of  martyrdom,  feeling  that  she  has  rendered  the 
supreme  service,  and  that,  henceforth,  nothing  is  too  good  for 
her.  Second,  there  is  the  mother  who  loves  her  own  children 
devotedly,  and  has  as  many  as  her  health  and  the  family  purse 
will  permit,  but  who  is  fairly  indifferent  to  other  women's 
children.  Last  of  all,  there  is  the  mother  who  loves  anybody's 
children — everybody's  children.  Where  the  first  kind  of 
mother  finds  "  young  ones  "  a  bother,  and  the  second  revels 
in  a  contrast  of  her  darlings  with  her  neighbors'  little  peo- 
ple (to  the  disparagement  of  the  latter),  the  third  never 
fails  to  see  a  baby  if  there  is  a  baby  around,  never  fails  to 
be  touched  by  Httle  woes  or  joys;  belongs,  perhaps,  to  a 
child-study  club,  or  helps  to  support  a  kindergarten,  or  gives 
as  freely  as  possible  to  some  orphanage.  And  often  such 
a  woman,  finding  herself  childless,  and  stirred  to  her  action 
by  a  voice  that  is  Nature's,  ordering  her  to  fulfill  her 
woman's  destiny,  makes  choice  from  among  those  countless 
little  ones  who  are  unclaimed;  and  if  she  happens  not  to 
be  married,  nevertheless,  like  a  mateless  bird,  she  sets  lov- 
ingly about  the  building  of  a  home  nest. 

This  last  kind  is  the  best  of  all  mothers.  Not  only  is  the 
fruit  of  her  body  precious  to  her,  but  all  child-life  is  pre- 
cious. She  is  the  super-mother:  She  is  the  woman  with  the 
universal  mother-heart. 

You,  the  "Auntie-Mother"  to  two  lucky  little  girls,  are 
of  this  type  which  I  so  honor.  And  that  is  why  I  dedicate 
to  you  this  story — with  great  affection,  and  with  profound 
respect. 

Your  friend, 

Eleanor  Gates. 
New  York,  191 7. 


370017 


APRON-STRINGS 


CHAPTER  I 


"  I  TELL  you,  there's  something  funny  about  it, 
Steve, — having  the  wedding  out  on  that  scrap  of 
lawn."  It  was  the  florist  who  was  speaking.  He 
was  a  little  man,  with  a  brown  beard  that  lent  him 
a  professional  air.  He  gave  a  jerk  of  the  head 
toward  the  high  bay-window  of  the  Rectory  draw- 
ing-room, set  down  his  basket  of  smilax  on  the 
well-cared-for  Brussels  that,  after  a  disappearing 
fashion,  carpeted  the  drawing-room  floor,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  select  and  cut  off  the  end  of  a  cigar. 

"  Something  wrong,"  assented  Steve.  He  found 
and  filled  a  pipe. 

The  other  now  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whisper. 
"  *  Mrs.  Milo,'  I  says  to  the  old  lady,  *  give  me  the 
Church  to  decorate  and  I'll  make  it  look  like  some- 
thing.' *  My  good  man,*  she  come  back, — you 
know  the  way  she  talks — *  the  wedding  will  be  in 
the  Close.'" 

I 


2  Apron-Strings 

"  A  stylish  name  for  not  much  of  anything," 
observed  Steve.  "  The  Close !  Why  not  call  it  a 
yard  and  be  done  with  it  ?  '* 

"English,'*  explained  the  florist.  "—Well,  I 
pointed  out  that  this  room  would  be  a  good  place 
for  the  ceremony.  I  could  hang  the  wedding-bell 
right  in  the  bay-window.  But  at  that,  click  come 
the  old  lady's  teeth  together.  *  The  wedding  will 
be  in  the  Close/  she  says  again,  and  so  I  shut  my 
mouth." 

"  Temper." 

"  Exactly.  And  why  ?  What's  the  matter  with 
the  Church?  and  what's  the  matter  with  this  room? 
— ^that  they  have  to  go  outdoors  to  marry  up  the 
poor  youngsters.  What's  worse,  that  Close  hasn't 
got  the  best  reputation.  For  there  stands  that 
orphan  basket,  in  plain  sight " 

"  It's  no  place  for  a  wedding ! " 

"  Of  course  not ! — a  yard  where  of  a  night  poor 
things  come  sneaking  in " 

A  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  long  room  had  opened 
softly.  Now  a  voice,  gentle,  well-modulated,  and 
sorrowfully  reproving,  halted  the  protesting  of  the 
florist,  and  paralyzed  his  upraised  finger.  "  That 
will  do,"  said  the  voice. 


Apron-Strings  3 

What  had  frozen  the  gesture  of  his  employer 
only  accelerated  the  movements  of  Steve.  Recol- 
lecting that  he  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  he  snatched 
the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  seized  upon  the  smilax 
basket,  and  sidled  swiftly  through  the  door  leading 
to  the  Close. 

"  Goo — good-morning,  Mrs.  Milo,"  stammered 
the  florist,  putting  his  cigar  behind  his  back  with 
one  large  motion  that  included  a  bow.  "  Good- 
afternoon.  Fve  just  brought  the  festoons  for  the 
wedding-bower."  Once  more  he  jerked  his  head 
in  the  direction  of  the  bay-window,  and  edged  his 
way  toward  it  a  step  or  two,  his  fluttering  eyeUds 
belieing  the  smile  that  divided  his  beard. 

Mrs.  Milo,  her  background  the  heavy  oak  door 
that  led  to  the  library,  made  a  charming  figure  as 
she  looked  down  the  room  at  him.  She  was  a 
slender,  active  woman,  who  carried  her  seventy 
years  with  grace.  Her  hair  was  a  silvery  white, 
and  so  abundant  that  it  often  gave  rise  to  justified 
doubt ;  now  it  was  dressed  with  elaborate  care. 
Her  eyes  were  a  bright — almost  a  metallic — blue. 
Despite  her  age,  her  face  was  silkily  smooth,  and 
as  fair  as  a  girl's,  having  none  of  those  sallow 
spots  which  so  frequently  mar  the  complexions  of 


4  Apron-Strings 

the  old.  Her  cheeks  showed  a  faint  color.  Her 
nose  was  perhaps  too  thin,  but  it  was  straight  and 
finely  cut.  Her  mouth  was  small,  pretty,  and  curved 
by  an  almost  constant  smile.  Her  hands  were 
slender,  soft,  and  young.  They  were  not  given  to 
quick  movements.  Now  they  hung  touching  the 
blue-gray  of  her  morning-dress,  which,  with  ruffles 
of  lace  at  collar  and  wrists,  had  the  fresh  smartness 
of  a  uniform. 

"You  are  smoking?"  she  inquired.  That 
habitual  smile  was  on  her  lips,  but  her  eyes 
were   cold. 

"  Just — just  a  dry  smoke," — with  a  note  of 
injured  innocence. 

"  Your  cigar  is  in  your  mouth,"  she  persisted, 
"  and  yet  you're  not  smoking." 

At  that,  the  florist  took  a  forward  step.  "  And 
my  teeth  are  in  my  mouth,"  he  answered  boldly, 
"  but  I'm  not  eating." 

Another  woman  might  have  shrunk  from  the 
impudence  of  his  retort,  or  replied  angrily.  Mrs. 
Milo  only  advanced,  with  slow  elegance,  prepared 
again  to  put  him  on  the  defensive.  "  Why  do 
I  find  you  in  this  room  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  I'm  just  passing  through — to  the  lawn." 


Apron-Strings  5 

"  Do  not  pass  through  .again." 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  know  about  that,"  returned 
the  florist,  argumentatively.  "  When  I  mentioned 
passing  through  the  Church,  why,  the  Rector,  he 
says  to  me " 

Mrs.  Milo  lifted  a  white  hand  to  check  him. 
"  Never  mind  what  Mr.  Farvel  said,"  she  admon- 
ished sharply;  then,  with  quick  gentleness,  "You 
know  that  he  has  lived  here  only  little  more  than 
a  year." 

"  Oh,  I  know." 

"  And  I  have  lived  here  fifteen  years." 

"  True,"  assented  the  florist.  "  But  I  was  talking 
with  Miss  Susan  about  passing  through  the  Church, 
and  Miss  Susan " 

The  blue  eyes  flashed.  And  once  more  Mrs. 
Milo  advanced.  "  Never  mind  what  my  daughter 
told  you,"  she  commanded,  but  without  raising  her 
voice.  "I  am  compelled  to  make  this  Rectory 
my  home  because  Miss  Milo  does  the  secretarial 
work  of  the  parish.  And  what  kind  of  a  home 
should  1  have  if  I  allowed  the  place  to  be  in  con- 
tinual disorder  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause,  the  two  facing  each  other.     • 
Then  the  look  of  the  florist  fell.     "  I'll  go  in  by 


6       ^  Apron-Strings 

way  of  the  Church,  madam,"  he  announced.  And 
turned  away  with  a  stiff  bow. 

"  One  moment."  The  order  was  curt;  but  as  he 
brought  up,  and  turned  about  once  more,  Mrs. 
Milo  spoke  almost  confidentially.  "  As  you  very 
well  know,"  she  reminded,  her  face  slightly  averted, 
"  there  is  a  third  entrance  to  the  Close." 

The  florist  saw  his  opportunity.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he 
declared;  " — the  Httle  white  door  where  the  ladies 
come  of  a  night  to  leave  their  orphans." 

That  brought  Mrs.  Milo  about.  And  the  color 
deepened  in  her  cheeks.  It  was  the  red,  not  only 
of  anger,  but  of  modesty.  "  The  women  who  desert 
their  infants  in  that  basket,"  she  replied  (again  that 
sorrowful  intonation),  "are  not  ladies." 

The  florist  was  highly  pleased  with  results. 
"  That  may  be  so,"  he  went  on,  with  renewed  bold- 
ness ;  "  but  for  my  ladders,  and  my  plants,  the  little 

white  door  is  too  small,  and  so "    He  stopped 

short.  His  jaw  dropped.  His  eyes  widened,  and 
fixed  themselves  in  undisguised  admiration  upon  a 
young  woman  who  had  entered  the  room  behind 
Mrs.  Milo — a  lankish,  but  graceful  young  woman, 
radiant  in  a  gown  of  shimmering  satin,  her  fair 
hair  haloed  by  carefully  carried  lengths  of  misty 


Apron-Strings  7 

tulle.  "  And  so,"  resumed  the  florist,  absent- 
mindedly,  "  and  so — and  so " 

Mrs.  Milo  moved  across  the  carpet  to  a  sofa,  ad- 
justed a  velvet  cushion,  and  seated  herself.  "  Go 
and  do  your  work,"  she  said  sharply.  "  It  must 
be  finished  this  afternoon.  And  remember:  I  don't 
want  to  see  you  in  this  room  again." 

"  Very  well,  madam."  With  a  smile  and  a  bow, 
neither  of  which  was  intended  for  Mrs.  Milo,  the 
florist  recovered  his  self-possession,  threw  wide  his 
hands  in  a  gesture  that  was  an  eloquent  tribute  to 
the  shining  apparition  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room,  and  backed  out. 

"  Ha-a-a !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Milo — with  gratifica- 
tion in  her  triumph  over  the  decorator,  and  with  a 
sense  of  comfort  in  that  cushioned  corner  of  her 
favorite  sofa.  She  settled  her  slender  shoulders 
against  the  velvet. 

Now  the  satin  gown  crossed  the  carpet,  and  its 
wearer  let  fall  the  veiling  which  she  had  upborne 
on  her  outstretched  arms.  "  Mrs.  Milo,"  she 
began. 

"Oh!"  Mrs.  Milo  straightened,  but  without 
turning,  and  the  fear  that  the  other  had  heard  her 
curt  dismissal  of  the  florist  showed  in  the  quick 


8  Apron- Strings 

shifting  of  her  look.  When  she  spoke  again,  her 
voice  was  all  gentleness.  "  Yes,  my  dear  new 
daughter?"  she  inquired. 

Hattie  Balcome  cocked  her  head  to  one  side,  ex- 
tended a  satin-clad  foot,  threw  out  her  hands  with 
fingers  extended,  and  struck  a  grotesque  pose. 
"  Turn — and  behold !  "  she  bade  sepulchrally. 

Mrs.  Milo  turned.  "  A-a-a-ah !  "  Then  having 
given  the  wedding-gown  a  brief  scrutiny,  "  Er — 
yes — hm!     It's  quite  pretty." 

"  Quite  pretty  1 "  repeated  Hattie.  She  revolved 
once,  slowly.    "  What's  the  matter  with  it?  " 

"  We-e-e-ell,"  began  Mrs.  Milo,  appraising  the 
gown  at  more  length;  "isn't  it  rather  simple,  my 
dear, — for  a  girl  whose  father  is  as  wealthy  as 
yours?  Somehow  I  expected  at  least  a  little  real 
lace." 

Hattie  laughed.  "  What  on  earth  could  I  do 
with  real  lace  in  the  mountains  of  Peru  ?  " 

"  Peru !  "  Instantly  Mrs.  Milo's  face  grew  long. 
"  Then — then  my  son  has  finally  decided  to  accept 
the  position  in  Peru."  Now  she  took  her  underlip 
in  her  teeth;  and  her  lashes  fluttered  as  if  to  keep 
back  tears. 

"  But  you  won't  miss  him  terribly,  will  you  ?    As 


Apron-Strings  9 

it  is  you  don't  have  him — you  don't  see  such  a  lot 
of  him." 

"  Of  course,  as  you  say,  I  don't  have  him — 
except  for  a  couple  of  weeks  in  the  summer,  when 
Sue  has  her  vacation,  and  we  all  go  to  the  Catskills. 
Then  at  Christmastime  he  comes  here  for  a  week. 
Sue  has  never  asked  permission  to  have  Wallace  live 
at  the  Rectory " 

"  Except  of  Mr.  Farvel." 

"  Mr.  Farvel  didn't  have  to  be  asked.  He  and 
Wallace  are  old  friends.  They  met  years  ago — 
once  when  Wallace  went  to  Canada  with  a  boy 
chum.     And  Canada's  the  farthest  he's  ever  been, 

SO 

"  It  was  I  who  decided  on  Peru,"  said  the  girl, 
almost  defiantly.  "  The  very  day  he  proposed  to 
me  he  told  me  about  the  big  silver  mine  down  there 
that  wants  a  young  engineer.  And  I  said  Yes 
on  one  condition:  that  Wallace  would  take  me 
as  far  away  from  home  as  possible." 

The  elder  woman  rose,  finger  on  lip.  "  Sh !  "  she 
cautioned,  glancing  toward  the  door  left  open  by 
the  florist.  "  Oh,  we  don't  want  any  gossip, 
Hattie!" 

Hattie  lifted  her  eyebrows.     "We  don't  want 


lo  Apron-Strings 

it/'  she  agreed,  *'  but  we  shall  get  it.  They'll  all 
be  asking  one  another,  *  Why  not  the  Church  ?  or 
the  drawing-room?  Why  the  yard?'"  She 
nodded  portentously. 

Mrs.  Milo  came  nearer.  "They'll  never  sus- 
pect," she  promised.  "  Outdoor  weddings  are  very 
fashionable." 

"  Maybe.  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  this : 
Dad's  heart  is  set  on  this  marriage.  He  wants  to 
get  me  out  of  the  way."  Then  as  Mrs.  Milo's 
expression  changed  from  a  gratified  beam  to  a 
stare  of  horror,  "  Oh,  don't  be  shocked ;  he  has 
his  good  reasons.  But  as  I'm  going,  why  can't  he 
make  a  few  concessions,  instead  of  trying  to  spoil 
the  wedding?  " 

"  Spoil,  dear  ?  "  chided  the  elder  woman.  "  The 
wedding  will  be  beautiful  in  the  Close." 

Hattie's  brown  eyes  swam  with  sudden  tears. 
"  Perhaps,"  she  answered.  "  But  just  for  this  one 
time,  why  can't  my  father  and  mother " 

"Please,  Hattie!"  pleaded  Mrs.  Milo.  "We 
must  be  discreet !  "  Then  to  change  the  subject, 
"  My  dear,  let  me  see  the  back." 

Once  more  Hattie  revolved  accommodatingly. 
Close  to  the  door  leading  to  the  lawn  was  a  door 


Apron-Strings  ii 

which  led,  by  a  short  passage,  to  the  little,  old 
Gothic  church  which,  long  planted  on  its  generous 
allowance  of  grounds,  had  defied — along  with  an 
Orphanage  that  was  all  but  a  part  of  the  Church,  so 
near  did  the  two  buildings  stand — the  encroach- 
ment of  new,  tall,  office  structures.  As  Hattie 
turned  about,  she  kept  her  watch  on  the  door  lead- 
ing to  the  Church. 

"  It's  really  very  sweet,"  condescended  Mrs. 
Milo.  "  But — you  mustn't  let  Wallace  get  a 
glimpse  of  this  dress  before  tomorrow."  She  shook 
a  playful  finger.  "  That  would  be  bad  luck. 
Now, — what  does  Susan  think  of  it?  "  She  seated 
herself  to  receive  the  verdict. 

Hattie  wagged  her  head  in  mock  despair.  "  Oh," 
she  complained,  "  how  I've  tried  to  find  out ! " 

All  Mrs.  Milo's  playfulness  went.  She  stood  up, 
her  manner  suddenly  anxious.  "  Isn't  she  up- 
stairs ? "  she  asked. 

One  solemn  finger  was  pointed  ceilingward.  "  I 
have  even  paged  the  attic !  " 

Mrs.  Milo  hastened  across  the  room.  "  Why, 
she  must  be  upstairs,"  she  cried.  "  I  sent  her  up 
not  an  hour  ago." 

"  Well,  the  villain  has  just  naturally  come  down." 


12  Apron-Strings 

"  Susan !  Susan !  " — Mrs.  Milo  was  calling  into 
the  hall  leading  to  the  upper  floors  of  the  Rectory. 
'*  Look  in  the  vestibule,  Hattie." 

"  Perhaps  she  has  escaped  to  the  Orphanage." 
Hattie  gave  a  teasing  laugh  over  her  shoulder  as 
she  moved  to  obey. 

Mrs.  Milo  had  abandoned  the  hall  door  by  now, 
and  was  fluttering  toward  the  library.  "  Orphan- 
age ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Oh,  not  without  consulting 
me.  And  besides  there's  so  much  to  be  done  in  this 
house  before  tomorrow. — Susan!  Susan!"  She 
went  out,  calling  more  impatiently. 

As  Hattie  disappeared  into  the  vestibule,  that 
door  from  the  passage,  upon  which  she  had  kept  a 
watch,  was  opened,  slowly  and  cautiously,  and  the 
tousled  head  of  a  boy  was  thrust  in.  Seeing  that 
the  drawing-room  was  vacant,  the  boy  now  threw 
the  door  wide,  disclosing  nine  other  small  heads, 
but  nine  more  carefully  combed.  The  ten  were 
packed  in  the  narrow  passage,  and  did  not  move 
forward  with  the  opening  of  the  door.  Their 
freshly  washed  faces  were  eager ;  but  they  contented 
themselves  with  rising  on  tiptoe  to  peer  into  the 
room.  About  them,  worn  over  black  cassocks,  hung 
their  spotless  cottas.    Choir  boys  they  were,  but  on 


Apron-Strings  13 

every  small  countenance  was  written  the  indefinable 
mark  of  the  orphan-reared. 

Now  he  of  the  tousled  hair  stole  forward  across 
the  sill.  And  boldly  signaled  the  others.  "St!— 
Aw,  come  on ! ''  he  cried.  "  What' re  you  'fraid  of ! 
Didn't  the  new  minister  tell  us  to  wait  in  here  ?  " 

The  choir  obeyed  him,  but  without  argument. 
As  each  cotta-clad  figure  advanced,  eyes  were  di- 
rected toward  doors,  and  hands  mutely  signed  what 
tongues  feared,  to  utter.  One  boy  came  to  the  sofa 
and  gingerly  smoothed  a  velvet  pillow;  whispering 
and  pointing,  the  others  scattered — to  look  up  at  a 
painting  of  a  bishop  of  the  Anglican  Church,  which 
hung  above  the  mantel,  to  open  the  Bible  on  the 
small  mahogany  table  that  held  the  center  of  the 
room,  to  touch  the  grand  piano  with  moist  and 
marking  finger-tips,  and  to  gaze  with  awe  upon 
two  huge  and  branching  candlesticks  that  flanked  a 
marble  clock  above  the  hearth. 

Now  a  husky  whisper  broke  the  unwonted  silence 
of  the  choir;  and  an  excited  finger  directed  all  eyes 
to  the  painting  of  the  Bishop :  "  Oh,  fellers !  Fel- 
lers ! "  He  rallied  his  companions  with  his  other 
arm.  "Look-ee!  Look-ee!  That's  Momsey's 
father!" 


14  Apron-Strings 

"  Momsey's  father !  "  It  was  the  tousled  chor- 
ister, and  he  plowed  his  way  forward  through  the 
gathering  choir  before  the  hearth.  "  What' re  you 
talkin'  about?    Momsey's  father  wasn't  a  minister." 

But  the  other  was  not  to  be  gainsaid.  "  Yes,  he 
was,"  he  persisted;  **  and  it's  him." 

"  Aw,  that's  a  Bishop, — or  somethin'.  There's 
Momsey's  father."  Beside  the  library  door  stood  a 
small  writing-desk.  Atop  it,  in  a  wooden  frame, 
was  a  photograph.  This  was  now  caught  up, 
and  went  from  hand  to  hand  among  the  crowding 
boys.  "  That's  him,  and  he's  been  dead  twenty 
years." 

"  Let  me  see ! "  A  shining  tow-head  wriggled 
up  from  under  the  arms  of  taller  boys,  and  a 
freckled  hand  captured  the  picture.  "  Why,  he 
looks  like  Momsey !  " 

The  tousled  songster  seized  the  photograph  in 
righteous  anger.  "  Sure !  "  he  cried,  waving  it  in 
the  face  of  the  tow-headed  boy ;  "  you  don't  think 
she  takes  after  her  mother,  do  y'  ?  " 

A  chorus  of  protests,  all  aimed  at  the  tow-head, 
which  was  turned  defensively  from  side  to  side. 

"  Y'  know  what  /  think?  "  demanded  the  tousled 
one.    He  motioned  the  others  to  gather  round.    "  I 


Apron-Strings  15 

don't  believe  the  old  lady  is  Momsey's  mother  at 
a-a-all!" 

"  Oo-oo-oo !  "     The  choir  gasped  and  stared. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  persisted  the  boy.  "  I  believe  that 
years,  and  years,  and  years  ago,  some  nice,  poor 
lady  come  cree-ee-eepin'  through  the  little  white 
door,  and  left  Momsey — in  the  basket !  " 

Nine  small  countenances  beamed  with  delight. 
"  YouVe  right !  "  the  choir  clamored.  "  You're 
right !  You're  dead  right !  "  White  sleeves  were 
waved  joyously  aloft. 

Now  the  heavy  door  to  the  library  began  to  swing 
against  the  backs  of  two  or  three.  The  choir  did 
not  wait  to  see  who  was  entering.  Smiles  vanished. 
Eyes  grew  frightened.  Like  one,  the  boys  wheeled 
and  fled.  The  door  into  the  passage  stood  wide. 
They  crowded  through  it,  and  halted  only  when  the 
last  cotta  was  across  the  sill.  Then,  like  a  flock 
of  scared  quail,  they  faced  about,  panting,  and 
ready  for  further  flight. 

One  look,  and  ten  musical  throats  emitted  as 
many  unmusical  shouts  of  laughter.  While  the 
tousle-headed  boy,  swinging  the  photograph  which 
he  had  failed  to  restore  to  its  place,  again  set  foot 
upon  the  Brussels  of  the  drawing-room.     "  Oh ! 


i6  Apron-Strings 

Oh ! "  he  laughed.  "  Oh,  golly,  Dora,  you  scared 
me!" 

With  all  the  dignity  of  her  sixteen  years,  and 
with  all  the  authority  of  one  who  has  graduated 
from  the  ranks  of  an  Orphanage  to  the  higher,  if 
rarer,  air  of  a  Rector's  residence,  Dora  surveyed 
with  shocked  countenance  the  saucy  visages  of  the 
ten.  On  occasions  she  could  assume  a  manner  most 
impressive — a  manner  borrowed  in  part  from  a 
butler  who  had  been  installed,  at  one  time,  by  a 
wealthy  and  high-living  incumbent  of  St.  Giles,  and 
in  part  from  ministers  who  had  reigned  there  by 
turns  and  whose  delivery  and  outward  manifesta- 
tions of  inward  sanctity  she  had  carefully  studied 
during  the  period  of  her  own  labor  in  the  house. 
Now  with  finger-tips  together,  and  with  the 
spirit  of  those  half-dozen  ecclesiastics  sounding 
in  her  nasal  sing-song,  she  voiced  her  stern 
reproof : 

"My  dear  brothers!" 

"  Aw,"  scoffed  a  boy,  "  we  ain't  neither  your 
brothers." 

"  I  am  speaking  in  the  broad  sense,"  explained 
Dora,  with  the  loftiness  of  one  who  addresses  a 
throng  from  a  pulpit.    Then  shaking  a  finger,  "  '  The 


Apron-Strings  17 

wicked  flee  when  no  man  pursueth* — Proverbs, 
twenty-eighth  chapter,  and  first  verse." 

"  We're  not  wicked,"  denied  the  boy.  "  Mr. 
Farvel  told  us  to  come." 

"  We're  goin'  to  rehearse  for  the  wedding" 
chimed  in  the  tow-headed  one. 

Dora  let  her  look  travel  from  face  to  face,  the 
while  she  shook  her  head  solemnly.  "  But,"  she 
reminded,  "  if  Mrs.  Milo  finds  you  here,  only  a 
miracle  can  save  you ! " 

"  Aw,  Fm  not  afraid  of  her,'* — the  uncombed 
chorister  advanced  bravely.  **  She's  only  a  boarder. 
And  after  this,  Fm  goin'  to  mind  just  Mr.  Farvel." 

Something  like  horrified  pity  lengthened  the  pale 
face  of  Dora.  "Little  boys,"  she  advised,  "in 
these  brief  years  since  I  left  the  Orphanage,  Fve 
seen  ministers  come  and  ministers  go.     But  Mrs. 

Milo" — she   turned    away — "like   the   poor " 

Her  ministerial  gesture  was  eloquent  of  hopeless- 
ness. 

The  boys  in  the  passage  stared  at  one  another 
apprehensively.  But  their  leader  was  flushed  with 
excitement  and  wrath.  "  Dora,"  he  cried,  hurrying 
over  to  check  her  going,  "  do  you  know  what  I 
wish  would  happen?" 


i8  Apron-Strings 

She  turned  accusingly.  "  Oh,  Bobbie !  What 
a  sinful  thought !  " 

"  But  I  wasn't  wishin'  that! " 

"  Drive  it  out  of  your  heart ! "  she  counseled, 
with  all  the  passion  of  an  evangelist.  "  Drive  it 
out  of  your  heart!  Remember:  she  can't  live 
forever.  She  ain't  immortal.  But  let  her  stay  her 
appointed  time," — this  last  with  the  bowed  head 
proper  to  the  sentiment,  so  that  two  short,  tight 
braids  stood  ceilingward. 

The  stifled  exclamations  of  the  waiting  ten 
brought  her  head  up  once  more.  From  the  vesti- 
bule, resplendent  in  shining  satin  and  billows  of 
tulle,  had  appeared  a  vision.  The  choir  gazed  on 
it  in  open-mouthed  wonder.  "  Oh,  look !  The 
bride !    Mm !    Ain't  it  beautiful !  " 

Hattie  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  Dropping  all 
the  tulle  into  place,  she  walked  from  bay-window  to 
table  and  back  again,  displaying  her  finery.  "  Isn't  it 
pretty?  "  she  agreed.  "  See  the  veil.    And  look !  " 

Head  on  one  side,  the  ever-philosophical  Dora 
watched  her.  And  Hattie,  halting,  turned  once 
around  for  the  benefit  of  all  observers,  but  with  an 
inviting  smile  toward  the  girl,  as  to  a  sister-spirit 
who  would  be  certain  to  appreciate. 


Apron-Strings  19 

Dora  lifted  gingham-clad  shoulders  in  a  weary- 
shrug.  "'Can  a  maid  forget  her  ornaments?*" 
she  quoted;  "  *  or  a  bride  her  attire?  '  " 

"  Well,  I  hke  that! "  cried  Hattie. 

Quickly  Dora  extended  a  hand  with  a  gesture  un- 
mistakably cleric.  "Jeremiah,"  she  explained; 
" — second  chapter,  and  thirty-second  verse." 

But  Hattie  was  not  deceived.  She  rustled  for- 
ward. "  Yes !  "  she  retorted.  "  And  Hattie  Bal- 
come,  first  chapter,  and  first  verse,  reads :  *  Can  a 
maid  forget  her  manners f ' '' 

Dora  was  suddenly  all  meekness.  "If  she  for- 
gets her  duties,"  she  answered,  "  she  shall  flee  from 
Mrs.  Milo — and  the  wrath  to  come ! "  Whereupon, 
with  a  bounce  and  a  giggle,  neither  of  which  was 
in  keeping  with  her  spoken  fears,  she  went  out, 
banging  the  library  door. 

Hattie  turned,  and  here  was  the  choir  at  her 
back,  engrossed  in  the  beauties  of  her  apparel. 
She  gave  the  little  group  a  friendly  nod  and  a 
smile.     "  So  you  are  the  boys,"  she  commented. 

Bobbie  was  quick  to  explain.  "  We're  some  of 
the  boys,"  he  said.  "  There's  about  fifty  more  of 
us,  and  pretty  near  fifty  girls,  too,  over  in  the 
Orphanage." 


20  Apron-Strings 

"  But — aren't  you  all  rather  big  to  be  left  in  a 
basket?" 

"  Oh,  not  all  of  us  are  left  in  the  basket/'  Bob- 
bie shook  his  rumpled  mop  with  great  finality. 

"  No."  It  was  a  smaller  boy.  "  Just  the  fellers 
that  never  had  any  mothers  or  fathers." 

"  Like  me,"  piped  a  chorister  from  the  rear. 

"  And  me,"  put  in  the  tow-headed  boy. 

Hattie  looked  them  over  carefully.  **  Which," 
she  inquired,  "  is  the  one  that  is  borrowed  from 
his  aunt?  " 

The  group  stirred.  A  murmur  went  from  boy  to 
boy.     "Mm!     Yes!     That  one!     Oh,  him!" 

"  That's  Ikey  Einstein,"  explained  Bobbie. 
"And  he's  in  the  Church  right  now.  You  see, 
he's  borrowed  on  account  of  his  won-der-ful  voice. 
Momsey  says  Ikey's  got  a  song-bird  in  his 
throat." 

Once  more  the  group  stirred,  murmuring  its 
assent.  It  was  the  testimony  of  a  choir  to  its  finest 
songster — a  testimony  strong  with  pride. 

At  that  same  moment,  sounding  from  beyond  the 
heavy  door  that  gave  to  the  Church,  came  a  long- 
drawn  howl  of  mingled  rage  and  woe.  "  Wa-ah !  " 
— it  was  the  voice  of  a  boy;  "  oh,  wa-a-a-ah! " 


Apron-Strings  2i 

Bobbie  lifted  a  finger  to  point.  "  That,"  said  he 
proudly,  "  is  Ikey  now."  He  motioned  the  choir 
into  the  bay-window,  and  Hattie  followed. 

The  wails  increased  in  volume.  The  door  at  the 
end  of  the  passage  swung  open;  and  into  sight, 
^mid  loud  boo-hoos,  pressed  a  squirming  trio. 
There  were  two  torn  and  dirty  boys,  their  faces 
streaked  with  tears,  their  hands  vainly  trying  to 
grapple.  And  between  the  two,  holding  to  each 
by  a  handful  of  cassock,  and  by  turns  scolding 
and  beseeching  the  quarreling  pair,  came  Sue 
Milo. 

Strangers  saw  Sue  Milo  as  an  attractive,  middle- 
aged  woman,  tall,  and  full-figured,  whose  face  was 
expressive  and  inclined  toward  a  high  color,  whose 
shining  brown  hair  was  well  grayed  at  the  temples, 
and  whose  eyes,  blue-gray,  and  dark-lashed,  were 
wide  and  kindly. 

Strangers  marked  her  for  a  capable,  dependable 
woman,  too;  and  found  suited  to  her  the  adjective 
"motherly."  This  for  the  same  reason  which 
moved  new  acquaintances  instinctively  to  address 
her  as  "Mrs."  For  Sue  Milo,  at  forty-five, 
bore  none  of  the  marks  of  the  so-called  typical 
spinster. 


22  Apron-Strings 

But  a  curious  change  of  attitude  toward  her  was 
the  experience  of  that  man  or  woman  who  came 
to  know  her  even  casually.  Though  at  a  first 
meeting  she  seemed  to  be  all  of  her  age,  with  better 
acquaintance  she  appeared  to  grow  rapidly  younger. 
So  that  it  was  not  strange  to  hear  her  referred  to 
as  "  the  Milo  girl,"  and  not  infrequently  she  was 
included  at  gatherings  of  people  who  were  still 
in  their  twenties.  In  just  what  her  youthfulness 
lay  it  was  hard  to  define.  At  times  an  expression 
of  the  eye,  a  trick  of  straight-looking,  or  perhaps 
the  lifting  and  turning  of  the  chin,  or  a  quick 
bringing  together  of  the  hands, — all  these  were 
girlish.  There  was  that  about  her  which  made 
her  seem  as  simple  and  unaffected  as  a  child. 

Yet  capable  and  dependable  she  was — as  any 
crisis  at  Rectory  or  Orphanage  had  proven  repeat- 
edly. And  when  quick  decisions  were  demanded, 
all  turned  as  if  with  one  accord  to  Sue.  And  she 
was  as  quick  to  execute.  Or  if  that  was  beyond 
her  power,  she  roused  others  to  action.  It  was 
a  rector  of  St.  Giles  who  once  applied  to  her 
a  description  that  was  singularly  fitting :  "  She  is,'* 
he  said,  "  like  a  ship  under  full  sail." 

Just  now  she  was  a  ship  in  a  storm. 


Apron-Strings  23 

"  Aw,  you  did  said  it !  "  cried  the  wailing  Ikey, 
pointing  at  his  adversary  a  forefinger  wrapped  in 
a  handkerchief.  "  You  did !  You  did !  I  heard 
you  said  it !  " 

"  I  never!  I  never!  "  denied  his  opponent.  "  It 
ain't  so !    Boo-hoo !  " 

Sue  gave  them  an  impartial  shake.  "  That  will 
do ! "  she  declared,  trying  hard  to  speak  with  force, 
while  her  eyes  twinkled.  " — Ikey,  do  you  hear  me? 
— Put  down  that  fist,  Clarence! — Now,  be  still  and 
listen  to  me ! "  With  another  shake,  she  quieted 
them ;  whereupon,  holding  each  at  arm's  length,  she 
surveyed  them  by  turns.  "  Oh,  my  soul,  such 
little  heathen ! "  she  pronounced.  "  Now  what  do 
you  think  I  am?  A  fight  umpire?  Do  you  want 
to  damage  each  other  for  life?  " 

Clarence  was  all  sniffles,  and  rubbed  at  the  in- 
jured arm.  But  Ikey  had  no  mind  to  be  blamed 
undeservedly.  He  squared  about  upon  Sue  with 
flashing  eye.  "  But,  Momsey,  he  did  said  it ! "  he 
repeated. 

Sue  tightened  her  grip  on  his  cassock.  "  And, 
oh,  my  soul,  such  grammar  1 "  she  mourned.  "  *  He 
did  said  it ! '  You  mean,  He  do  said — he  do  say — 
he  done— oh,  now  you've  got  me  twisted !  " 


24  Apron- Strings 

"  Just  de  same,  he  called  it  to  me,"  asserted  Ikey. 

"  I  never,  I  tell  you !     I  never !  " 

"  Ah !  Ah !  "  Once  more  Sue  struggled  to  hold 
them  apart.  "And  what,  Mr.  Ikey,  did  he  call 
you?" 

"  He  calls  me,"  cried  the  insulted  Ikey,  " — ^he 
calls  me  a  pie-faces ! — Ach !  " 

"And  what  did  you  call  him?" 

"  I  didn't  call  him  not'ing !  "  answered  Ikey,  be- 
ginning to  wail  again  at  the  very  thought  of 
his  failure  to  do  himself  justice;  "not — von — 
fing!" 

"  But " — with  a  wisdom  born  of  long  choir  ex- 
perience— "you  must  have  said  something." 

"All  I  says,"  chanted  Ikey,  "—all  I  says  is, 

'  You  can't  sing.     What  you  do  is '  "     And 

lowering  and  raising  his  head,  he  emitted  a  long, 
lifelike  bray. 

"  Yah !  "  burst  forth  the  enraged  Clarence,  strug- 
gling to  clutch  his  hated  fellow. 

"Wa-a-a-ah!"  wept  Ikey,  who  had  struck  out 
and  hurt  his  already  injured  digit.  "  You  don- 
key ! — donkey !  " 

Breathing  hard.  Sue  managed  to  keep  them  apart; 
to  bring  them  back  to  their  proper  distance.    "  Look 


Apron-Strings  25 

at  tHem !  "  she  said  with  fine  sarcasm.  "  Oh,  look 
at  Ikey  Einstein ! — Where's  your  handkerchief  ?  '* 

Weeping,  he  indicated  it  by  a  duck  of  the 
chin. 

At  such  a  point  of  general  melting,  it  was  safe 
to  release  combatants.  Sue  freed  the  two,  and  took 
from  Ikey's  pocket  a  square  of  cotton  once  white, 
but  now  characteristically  gray,  and  strangely 
heavy.  "  Here,  put  up  that  poor  face,'*  she  com- 
forted. But  at  this  unpropitious  moment,  the  hand- 
kerchief, clear  of  the  pocket,  sagged  with  its 
holdings  and  deposited  upon  the  carpet  several  yel- 
lowish, black-spotted  cubes.  "  Dice !  "  exclaimed 
Sue,  horrified.  *'  Dice ! — Ikey  Einstein,  what  do  you 
call  yourself !  " 

Pride  stopped  Ikey's  tears.  He  thrust  out  his 
underlip  and  waved  a  hand  at  the  scattered  cubes. 
**  Momsey,"  he  answered  stoutly,  "  don't  you  know? 
Why,  ever  since  day  before  yesterdays,  I  am  a 
t'ree-card-monte  man !  " 

**  You're  a  three-card-what  ?  " 

Unable  longer  to  restrain  their  mirth,  that  por- 
tion of  the  choir  that  was  in  the  bay-window  now 
whooped  with  delight.  And  Sue,  turning,  beheld 
ten  figures  writhing  with  joy. 


26  Apron-Strings 

"  So !  "  she  began  severely.  The  ten  sobered,  and 
their  cottas  billowed  in  a  backward  step.  "  So  here 
you  are ! — where  you  have  no  business  to  be ! " 

Bobbie,  the  spokesman,  ventured  to  the  rescue  of 
his  mates.    "  But,  Momsey " 

"  Now !  No  excuses !  You  all  know  that  you  do 
not  come  into  this  drawing-room,  to  track  up  the 
carpet — look  at  your  feet!  And  to  pull  things 
about,  like  a  lot  of  red  Indians!  And  finger-print 
the  mahogany  I  And,  oh,  how  disappointed  I  am  in 
you !    To  disobey !  " 

"  But  the  minister "  piped  up  the  tow-headed 

boy. 

"  That's  right ! "  she  retorted  sarcastically. 
"  Blame  it  on  Mr.  Farvel !  As  if  you  don't  know 
the  regulations ! " 

"  But  this  is  Mr.  Farvel's  house,"  urged  Bobbie. 

"  A-a-ah ! — Now  that  makes  it  worse !  Now  I 
know  youVe  deliberately  ignored  my  mother's 
wishes!  And  if  she  finds  you  out,  and,  oh,  I  hope 
she  does,  don't  you  come  to  me  to  save  you  from 
punishment?  Depend  upon  it,  I  shan't  lift  my  little 
finger  to  help  you!  No!  Not  if  it's  bread  and 
water  for  a  week!     Not  if  you " 

A  door  slammed.     From  the  library  came  the 


Apron-Strings  27 

sound  of  quick  steps.  Then  a  voice  was  upraised : 
"  Susan !    Susan !  '* 

The  red  paled  in  Sue's  cheeks.  "Oh!"  She 
threw  out  both  arms  as  if  to  sweep  the  entire  choir 
to  her.  "  Oh,  my  darlings ! "  she  whispered 
hoarsely.  "  Oh !  Oh,  mother  mustn't  see  you ! 
Go !  Hurry !  "  As  they  crowded  to  her,  she  thrust 
them  backward,  through  the  door  to  the  passage. 
*'  Oh,  quick !    Bobbie !    My  dears !  " 

Eight  were  crammed  into  the  shelter  of  the  pas- 
sage. Four  pressed  against  their  fellows  but  could 
not  get  across  the  sill  in  time.  These  Sue  swept 
into  a  crouching  line  at  her  back — as  the  library 
door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Milo  came  panting  into  the 
room. 

As  mother  and  daughter  faced  each  other,  Hattie, 
seated  quietly  in  the  bay-window,  smiled  at  the 
two — so  amazingly  unlike.  It  was  as  if  an  aristo- 
cratic, velvet-footed  feline  were  bristling  before  a 
great,  good-tempered  St.  Bernard.  In  a  curious 
way,  too,  and  in  a  startling  degree,  each  woman 
subtracted  sharply  from  the  other.  In  the  presence 
of  Sue,  Mrs.  Milo's  petiteness  became  weakness, 
her  dainty  trimness  accentuated  her  helplessness, 
her  delicate  coloring  looked  ill-health;  while  Sue, 


28  Apron-Strings 

by  contrast,  seemed  over-high  as  to  color,  almost 
boisterous  of  voice,  and  careless  in  dress. 

Mrs.  Milo's  look  was  all  reproval.  "  Susan 
Milo,"  she  began,  "where  have  you  been?" 

Sue  was  standing  very  still — in  order  not  to  un- 
cover a  vestige  of  boy.  She  smiled,  half  wistfully, 
half  mischievously.  "Just — er — in  the  Church, 
mother."  She  had  her  own  way  of  saying 
"  mother."  On  her  lips  it  was  no  mere  title,  lightly 
used.  Her  very  prolonging  of  the  ''  r  "  gave  the 
word  all  the  tender  meanings — undivided  love,  and 
loyalty,  protection,  yet  dependence.  She  spoke  it 
like  a  caress. 

Mrs.  Milo  recognized  in  her  daughter's  tone  an 
apology  for  something.  Quick  suspicion  took  the 
place  of  reproval.  "  And  what  were  you  doing  in 
the  Church?" — with  a  rising  inflection. 

"  Well,  I — I  was  sort  of — poking  around." 

"  St !  " — an  exclamation  of  impatience.  Then, 
"  Churches  are  not  made  to  poke  in." 

Now  there  came  to  Sue  that  look  that  suggested  a 
little  girl,  and  a  naughty  little  girl  at  that.  She 
turned  on  her  mother  a  beguiling  smile.  "  I — I  was 
-poking  in  the  vestry,"  she  explained. 

Mrs.   Milo  observed  that  the  bay-window  held 


Apron-Strings  29 

a  young  person  in  white  satin,  who  was  sitting 
very  still,  and  was  all  attention.  She  managed  a 
faint  returning  smile,  therefore,  and  assumed  a 
playful  tone.  "  The  vestry  is  not  a  part  of  your 
duties  as  secretary,"  she  reminded.  "  And  there's 
so  much  to  do,  my  daughter, — the  decorations,  the 
caterer,  the " 

"  I  know,  mother.  I  shan't  neglect  a  thing." 
Sue  swayed  a  little,  to  the  clutch  of  a  small  hand 
dragging  at  her  skirt. 

"And  as  I've  said  before,  I  prefer  that  you'd 
take  all  of  Mr.  Farvel's  dictation  in  the  library;  I 
don't  want  you  hanging  about  in  the  vestry  unless 
I'm  with  you. — Will  you  please  pay  attention  to 
what  I'm  saying?  " — this  with  much  patience. 

Over  one  arm,  folded.  Sue  carried  a  garment  of 
ministerial  black.  This  she  now  unfolded  and 
spread,  the  better  to  hide  the  boy  crouching  closest 
at  her  back.  "  Oh,  yes,  mother  dear,"  she  admitted 
reassuringly.    "  Yes." 

"  And  what  is  that  you  have?  "  The  tone  might 
have  been  used  to  a  child. 

Hurriedly  Sue  doubled  the  black  lengths.  "  It's 
— it's  just  a  vestment,"  she  explained,  embarrassed. 

"  Please."    Mrs.  Milo  held  out  a  white  hand. 


30  Apron-Strings 

To  go  forward  and  lay  the  vestment  in  that  hand 
meant  to  disclose  the  presence  of  the  hiding  quar- 
tette. With  quick  forethought,  Sue  leaned  far  for- 
ward in  what  might  be  mistaken  for  a  bow,  tipped 
her  head  gaily  to  one  side,  and  stretched  an  arm 
to  proffer  the  offending  garment.  "  Here,  mother- 
kins  !    It's  in  need  of  mending." 

Mrs.  Milo  tossed  the  vestment  to  the  piano. 
"  What  has  your  work — your  accounts  and  state- 
ments and  stenography — what  have  they  to  do  with 
the  Rector's  mending?"  she  demanded. 

"Well,  mother,  I  used  to  mend  for  the  last 
minister." 

"  Oh,  my  daughter !  "  mourned  Mrs.  Milo. 

"  Ye-e-e-s,  mother  ?  " — fearful  that  the  boys 
were  at  last  discovered. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  see  no  difference 
in  mending  for  a  single  man?  a  young  man?  an 
utter  stranger?  " 

Sue  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  Mother  darling," 
she  protested  fondly;  "hardly  a  stranger." 

"We'll  not  discuss  it,"  said  her  mother  gently; 
then  taking  a  more  judicial  attitude,  "  Now,  Fll 
speak  to  those  boys." 

Long  experience  had  shown  Sue  Milo  that  there 


Apron-Strings  31 

were  times  when  it  was  best  to  put  off  the  evil 
moment,  since  at  any  juncture  something  quite  un- 
foreseen— such  as  an  unexpected  arrival — ^might 
solve  her  difficulty.  This  was  such  an  occasion. 
So  with  over-elaborate  care,  she  proceeded  to  out- 
line the  forthcoming  program  of  the  morning. 
"  You  see,  mother,  we're  to  rehearse — choir  and  all. 
They'll  march  from  the  library,  right  across 
here "     She  indicated  the  route  of  procession. 

But  long  experience  had  taught  Mrs.  Milo  that 
procrastination  often  robbed  her  of  her  best  oppor- 
tunities. She  pointed  a  slender  finger  to  the  carpet 
in  front  of  her.    "  The  boys,"  she  said  more  firmly. 

One  by  one,  Sue  brought  them  forward — Bobbie 
in  the  lead,  then  the .  to w-headed  boy;  this  to  con- 
ceal the  unfortunate  state  of  Ikey  and  the  war- 
like Clarence.  "  Here  they  are,  mother !  "  she  an- 
nounced gaily.    "  Here  are  our  fine  little  men ! " 

Neither  cheerful  air  nor  kindly  adjective  served 
to  pacify  Mrs.  Milo's  anger  at  sight  of  the  four 
intruders.  Her  nostrils  swelled.  "  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?  "  she  questioned,  with  a  mildness  con- 
tradicted by  her  look;  '' — against  my  strict  orders." 

Bobbie,  the  ever-ready,  strove  to  answer,  swal- 
lowed, paled,  choked,   and  turned  appealingly  to 


32  Apron-Strings 

Sue;  while  the  remaining  three,  with  upraised 
eyes,  beseeched  her  Hke  dumb  things. 

"  Absolutely  necessary,  mother,"  declared  Sue. 
She  gave  each  boy  a  reassuring  pat.  "  As  I  was 
saying,  they  march  from  the  library,  preceding  the 
bride " 

But  Mrs.  Milo  was  not  listening.  There  was 
that  still  white  figure  in  the  bay-window,  observing 
the  scene  intently.  She  bestowed  a  pleasant  nod 
upon  the  quartette.  "  You  may  go  now,  boys,"  she 
said  cooingly ;  "  I'll  speak  to  you  later." 

Bobbie  found  his  voice.  "  Yes,  ma'am.  Thank 
you !  " — and  took  one  long  step  churchward.  The 
tow-headed  boy  moved  with  him. 

This  left  unshielded  the  erstwhile  contesting 
twain.  Mrs.  Milo's  look  seemed  to  fall  upon  them 
like  a  blow.  "  Oh !  Oh ! "  she  cried  in  horror, 
pointing. 

As  one,  Ikey  and  Clarence  began  rubbing  tell- 
tale streaks  from  their  countenances  with  their 
rumpled  cottas,  and  pressing  down  their  upstanding 
hair. 

*'No!  No-o-o!"  cried  Mrs.  Milo.  "That 
photograph!    What  are  you  doing  with  it?  " 

In  sudden  panic,  Bobbie  shifted  the  photograph 


Apron-Strings  33 

from  hand  to  hand;  tried  to  force  it  into  the  hands 
of  the  tow-headed  boy,  then  bent  to  consign  it  to  the 
carpet. 

Sue  was  beforehand.  She  caught  the  picture 
away  from  the  small  trembling  hand,  and  smiled 
upon  her  mother.  "  Oh — I — I  was  just  going  to 
look  at  it,"  she  explained.  "  Thank  you,  Bobbie. — 
Isn't  it  good  of  father !    So  natural,  and — and " 

Mrs.  Milo  was  not  deceived.  "  Give  it  to  me," 
she  said  coldly.  And  as  Sue  obeyed,  "  Now,  go, 
boys.  Dora,  poor  child,  works  so  hard  to  keep 
this  drawing-room  looking  well.  We  can't  have 
you  disarrange  it.    Come !    Be  prompt !  " 

Sue  urged  the  four  passageward.  "  They  were 
just  going,  mother. — Don't  touch  the  woodwork; 
use  the  door  knob." 

And  now,  when  it  seemed  that  even  Ikey  and 
Clarence  might  escape  undetected,  Mrs.  Milo  gave 
another  cry.  "  Oh,  what's  the  matter  with  those 
two?"  she  demanded. 

There  was  no  long  term  of  orphanage  life  to 
quiet  the  young  savage  in  Ikey.  And  with  his 
much-prized  voice,  he  was  even  accustomed  to  being 
listened  to  on  more  than  musical  occasions.  Now 
he  bolted  forward,  disregarding  Sue's  hand,  which 


34  Apron-Strings 

caught  at  him  as  he  passed.  "  Missis,"  began  the 
borrowed  soloist,  meeting  Mrs.  Milo's  horrified 
gaze  with  undaunted  eye,  "  Clarence,  he  is  jealousy 
dat  I  sing  so  fine." 

To  argue  with  Sue,  or  to  subdue  her,  that  was 
one  thing;  to  come  to  cases  with  Ikey  was  quite 
another.  He  had  an  unpleasant  habit  of  threaten- 
ing to  betake  himself  out  and  away  to  his  aunt,  or 
to  go  on  strike  at  such  dramatic  times  as  morning 
service.  Therefore,  it  seemed  safer  now  to  ignore 
the  question  of  torn  and  muddied  cottas,  and  seize 
upop  some  other  pretext  for  censure.  "  What  kind 
of  language  is  that?"  questioned  Mrs.  Milo,  gently 
chiding.    ''  *  He  is  jealousy  '  1 " 

"Yes,  quaint,  isn't  it,  mother?"  broke  in  Sue. 
"  Really  quaint."  And  to  Ikey,  "  Not  jealousy — 
jealous." 

Ikey  bobbed.  Before  him,  like  a  swathed  candle, 
he  upheld  his  sore  finger. 

"  Please,  Susan ! "  begged  Mrs.  Milo,  with  a 
look  which  made  her  daughter  fall  back  apologet- 
ically. And  to  Ikey,  *'  How  did  you  come  by  that 
wound  ?  " 

The  truth  would  not  do.  And  the  truth  was  even 
now  on  the  very  tip  of  Ikey's  heedless  tongue.    Sue 


Apron-Strings  35 

gave  him  a  little  sidewise  push.  *'  Mother  dear," 
she  explained,  "  it  was  accidental." 

Aghast  at  the  very  boldness  of  the  statement, 
Ikey  came  about  upon  the  defender.  ''  Ac-ci-den- 
tal!"  he  cried;  "  dat  he  smashes  me  in  de  hand? 
Oh,  Momsey!" 

"Sh!     Sh!"  implored  Sue. 

But  the  worst  had  happened.  Now,  voice  or  no 
voice,  aunt  or  no  aunt,  Ikey  must  be  disciplined. 
Mrs.  Milo  caught  him  by  a  white  sleeve.  *'  Ikey 
Einstein !  "  she  breathed,  appalled. 

/^Yes,  Missis?" 

"  Please  don't  '  Missis '  me !  What  did  you  call 
my  daughter?" 

"  I— I  mean  Miss  Milo." 

"  What  did  you  call  my  daughter  ?  " 

"  Mother,"  pleaded  Sue,  ''  it  sHpped  out." 

"  Do  not  interrupt  me." 

"  No,  mother." 

"  Answer  me,  Ikey." 

"  I  says  to  her,  Momsey." 

Mrs.  Milo  glared  at  the  boy,  her  breast  heaving. 
There  was  more  in  her  hostile  attitude  toward  him 
than  the  fact  that  he  bore  signs  of  a  fracas,  or 
that  he  had  dared  in  her  hearing  to  let  slip  the 


36  Apron-Strings 

"  Momsey  "  he  so  loved  to  use.  To  her,  pious  as 
she  was  (but  pious  through  habit  rather  than 
through  any  deep  conviction),  the  mere  sight  of 
the  child  was  enough  to  rouse  her  anger.  She 
resented  his  ever  having  been  taken  into  the  choir 
of  St.  Giles,  no  matter  how  good  his  voice  might 
be.  She  even  resented  his  having*  a  voice.  He 
was  "  that  little  Jew  "  always,  and  a  living  symbol 
"  in  our  Christian  church "  of  a  "  race  that  had 
slain  the  Lord."  And  it  was  all  this  which  added 
to  his  sin  in  daring  to  look  upon  her  daughter 
with  an  affection  that  was  filial. 

"  Ikey  Einstein," — she  emphasized  the  name — 
"  haven't  you  been  told  never  to  address  Miss 
Susan  as  '  Momsey  '  ?  " 

"He  forgot,"  urged  Sue.  "But  he  won't 
ever " 

"  You're  interrupting  again " 

"  Excuse  me." 

"  How  do  you  expect  these  boys  to  be  obedient 
when  you  don't  set  them  a  good  example  ?  "  Her 
sorrowful  smile  was  purely  muscular  in  its 
origin. 

"  I  am  to  blame,  mother " 

Mrs.  Milo  returned  to  the  errant  soloist.    "  And 


Apron-Strings  37 

you  were  willfully  disobeying,  you  wicked  little 
boy!" 

A  queer  look  came  into  Ikey's  eyes.  His  an- 
gular face  seemed  to  draw  up.  His  ears  moved 
under  their  eaves  of  curling  hair.  "  Ye-e-es, 
Missis,"  he  drawled  calmly. 

Mrs.  Milo  was  a  judge  of  moods.  She  knew 
she  had  gone  far  enough.  She  assumed  a  tone  of 
deepest  regret.  "  Ungrateful  children !  "  she  said, 
distributing  her  censure.  "  Think  of  the  little  or- 
phans who  don't  get  the  care  you  get !    Think " 

And  arraigning  the  sagging  Clarence,  "  Don't  lean 
against  Miss  Milo." 

Ikey  grinned.  Experience  had  taught  him  that 
when  Mrs.  Milo  permitted  herself  to  halt  a  scolding, 
she  would  not  resume  it.  Furthermore,  a  loud, 
burring  bell  was  ringing  from  somewhere  beyond 
the  Church,  and  that  summons  meant  the  choir- 
master, a  personage  who  was  really  formidable. 
Before  Sue,  he  raised  that  candle-like  finger. 

"Practice,"  announced  Mrs.  Milo,  pointing  to 
the  passage. 

Three  boys  drew  churchward  on  sluggish  feet. 
But  Sue  held  Ikey  back.  "  His  finger  hurts,"  she 
comforted.    "  Come  I    We'll  get  some  liniment." 


38  Apron-Strings 

"  Susan !  " — gently  reproving  again.  "  There's 
liniment  in  the  Dispensary." 

Up,  as  before  a  teacher,  came  Ikey's  well  hand. 
"  Please,  Missis,  de  Orphan  medicine,  she  is  not  a 
speck  of  good." 

Sue  added  her  plea.  "  No,  mother,  she  is  not  a 
speck." 

Mrs.  Milo  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  You're  not 
going  to  help  these  children  by  coddling  them,"  she 
reminded.  And  to  Ikey,  "  Let  Nature  repair  the 
bruise."    She  waved  all  four  to  go. 

"  Out  of  here,  you  little  rascals ! "  Sue  cov- 
ered her  chagrin  by  a  laugh.  "  Oh,  you  go  that 
\vay," — this  to  Ikey,  who  was  treading  too  close 
upon  the  heels  of  the  still  mourning  Clarence. 
She  guided  the  wounded  chorister  toward  the 
Close. 

Ikey  took  his  banishment  with  a  sulky  look  at 
Mrs.  Milo.  "  Nature,"  she  had  recommended  to 
him.  He  did  not  know  any  such  person,  and  re- 
sented being  turned  over  to  a  stranger. 

Mrs.  Milo  saw  the  look.  "  Wait !  "  And  as  he 
halted,  "  Is  that  your  handkerchief.  Sue  ?  " 

"  Why— why— er— I  think  so." 

"  Kindly  take  it." 


Apron-Strings  39 

Gently  as  this  was  said,  it  was  for  Ikey  the  last 
straw.  As  Sue  unwound  the  square  of  linen,  he 
emitted  a  heart-rending  "  Ow ! "  and  fell  to  weep- 
ing stormily.  "Oh,  boo-hoo!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh, 
dis  is  wat  I  gets  for  singin'  in  a  Christian  choir! " 
With  which  stinging  rebuke,  he  fled  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  Now,  Susan."  Mrs.  Milo  folded  her  hands 
and  regarded  her  daughter  sorrowfully. 

"Yes,  mother?" 

"  Haven't  I  asked  you  not  to  allow  those  boys  to 
call  you  Momsey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,  but " 

The  white-clad  figure  in  the  bay-window  stirred, 
rose,  and  came  forward,  and  Hattie  ranged  her- 
self at  Sue's  side,  the  whole  movement  plainly  one 
of  defense. 

Her  bridal  raiment  afforded  Sue  an  excuse  for 
changing  the  subject.  "  Oh,  mother,  look !  How 
lovely!" 

"Don't  evade  my  question,"  chided  the  elder 
woman. 

Sue  reached  for  her  mother's  hand.  "  Ah,  poor 
little  hungry  hearts,"  she  pleaded.  "  Those  boys 
just  long  to  call  somebody  mother." 


40  •  Apron-Strings 

Mrs.  Milo  drew  her  hand  free.  "  Then  let  them 
call  me  mother,"  she  returned. 

"  Hup ! "  laughed  Hattie,  hastily  averting  her 
face. 

Sue  turned  to  her,  mild  wonder  in  her  eyes. 
"  Oh,  mother's  the  best  mother  in  the  world,"  she 
declared;  " — and  the  sweetest. — And  you  love  the 
boys,  don*t  you,  dear  ?  " 

Mrs.  Milo  was  watching  Hattie's  lowered  head 
through  narrowed  eyes.  "  I  love  them — naturally," 
she  answered,  with  a  note  of  injury. 

"  Of  course,  you  do !  You're  a  true  mother. 
And  a  true  mother  loves  anybody's  baby.  But — 
the  trouble  is  " — this  with  a  tender  smile — "  you — 
you  don't  always  show  them  the  love  in  your  heart." 

"  Well,"  retorted  her  mother,  "  I  shan't  let  them 
make  you  ridiculous. — Momsey !  " 

From  the  Church  came  the  sound  of  boyish 
laughter,  mingled  with  snatches  of  a  hymn.  The 
hymn  was  Ikey's  favorite,  and  above  all  the  other 
voices  sounded  his — 

*'  0  Mutter  Dear,  Jaru-u-u-usalem " 


Sue  turned  her  head  to  listen.     "  They  know 


Apron-Strings  41 

they've  got  a  right  to  at  least  one  parent,"  she 
said,  almost  as  if  to  herself.  **  Preferably  a 
mother." 

"  But  you're  an  unmarried  woman !  *' 

"  Still  what  difference  does  that  make  in " 

*'  Please  don't  argue." 

"  No,  mother,"— dutifully. 

"  To  refer  to  yourself  in  such  a  way  is  most  in- 
delicate.   Especially  before  Hattie." 

There  was  no  dissembling  in  the  look  Hattie  Bal- 
come  gave  the  older  woman.  The  young  eyes  were 
full  of  comprehension,  and  mockery;  they  said  as 
plainly  as  words,  ^'  Here  is  one  who  knows  you  for 
what  you  are — in  spite  of  your  dainty  manners, 
your  gentle  voice,  your  sweet  words."  Nor  could 
the  girl  keep  out  of  her  tone  something  of  the 
dislike  and  distrust  she  felt.  "Well,  Mrs.  Milo!" 
she  exclaimed.  ''I  think  it's  a  terrible  pity  that 
Sue's  not  a  mother." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  " — with  quick  anger,  scarcely  re- 
strained. ''  Well,  the  subject  is  not  appropriate  to 
unmarried  persons,  especially  young  girls.  Let  us 
drop  it." 

"Mother!" — And  having  diverted  Mrs.  Milo's 
resentful   stare   to   herself.    Sue   now   deliberately 


42  Apron-Strings 

swung  the  possibility  of  censure  her  way  in  order 
to  protect  Hattie.  '*  Mother,  shouldn't  a  woman 
who  hasn't  children  fill  her  arms  with  the  children 
who  haven't  mothers  ?  Why  shouldn't  I  mother  our 
orphan  boys  and  girls  ?  " 

"  I  repeat :  The  subject  is  closed.  And  when  the 
wedding  is  over,  I  don't  want  the  boys  in  here 
again." 

Sue  blinked  guiltily.  "But — er — ^hasn't  Mr. 
Farvel  told  you  ?  " 

"Told  me  what?" 

"  Of— of  his  plan." 

"Plan?" 

"Oh,  it's  a  splendid  idea!" 

"  Really," — wjth  fine  sarcasm. 

"  Every  day,  five  orphans  in  to  dinner," 

Mrs.  Milo  was  aghast.    "  Dinner?    Here?'' 

"  As  Ikey  says,  *  Ve  vill  eat  mit  a  napkins.'  " 

Mrs.  Milo  could  not  find  words  for  the  counter- 
arguing  of  such  a  monstrous  plan.  "  But, — but, 
Sue,"  she  stammered;  "they — they're  natural!'' 

A  hearty  laugh.  "  Natural,  dear  mother  ?  I 
hope  they  are." 

"  You — know — what — I — mean." 

"  Well,  /  can't  tell  them  from  other  children  with 


Apron-Strings  43 

the  naked  eye.  And  they're  just  as  dear  and  sweet, 
and  just  as  human — if  not  a  Httle  more  so." 

"  You  have  your  duty  to  the  Rectory.'* 

"  But  what's  this  Rectory  here  for  ?  And  the 
Church,  too,  for  that  matter  ?  " 

"  For  worship." 

"  And  how  better  can  we  worship  than " 

Seeing  that  she  was  losing  out  in  the  argument, 
Mrs.  Milo  now  resorted  to  personaHties.  "  Dar- 
ling," she  said  gently,  "  do  you  know  that  you're 
contradicting  your  mother?" 

"  I'm  sorry." 

**  The  children  are  given  food,  clothes,  and  re- 
ligious instruction." 

"  But  not  love ! — Oh,  mother,  I  must  say  it !  We 
herd  them  out  there  in  that  great  building,  just  be- 
cause their  fathers  and  mothers  didn't  take  out  a 
license  to  be  parents !  " 

Shocked,  Mrs.  Milo  stepped  back.  *'  My 
daughter ! " 

"  Can  we  punish  those  poor  little  souls  for  that  ? 
And,  oh,  how  they'd  relish  a  taste  of  honie 
life!" 

Her  position  decidedly  weakened — and  that  be- 
fore  watchful    Hattie— Mrs.    Milo    adopted    new 


44  Apron-Strings 

tactics.  "  Of  course,  I  have  nothing  to  say/'  she 
began.  "  I  am  only  here  because  you  hold  this 
secretaryship.  You  don't  have  to  make  me  feel 
that  I'm  an  intruder,  Sue.  I  feel  that  sharply 
enough."  There  was  a  trace  of  tears  in  her  voice. 
"  But  even  as  an  intruder,  I  have  a  certain  responsi- 
bility toward  the  Rectory — all  the  greater,  perhaps, 
because  I'm  a  guest.  Many  a  day  I  tire  myself  out 
attending  to  duties  that  are  not  mine.  And  I 
do "  She  interrupted  herself  to  point  carpet- 
ward.  "  Please  pick  up  that  needle.  Dora  must 
have  overlooked  iti  this  morning.  What  is  a  needle 
doing  in  here?  Thank  you."  Then  as  she  spied 
that  mocking  look  in  Hattie's  eyes  once  more, 
"  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  see  the  place  pulled  to 
pieces ! " 

There  was  scorn  written  even  in  Hattie's  pro- 
file. Sue  came  quickly  to  her  mother's  defense. 
"  I  get  mother's  viewpoint  absolutely,"  she  declared 
stoutly.  "  We've  lived  here  a  long  time.  Nat- 
urally, you  see "     Then,  with  a  shake  of  the 

head,  "  But  this  is  Mr.  Farvel's  home." 

Mrs.  Milo  laughed — a  low,  musical,  well-bred 
laugh.  *' His  home?"  she  repeated,  raising  deli- 
cate brows. 


Apron-Strings  45 

"And  he  can  do  as  he  chooses.  If  we 
oppose '* 

*'  I  shall  oppose."  It  was  said  cheerfully.  "  So 
let  him  dismiss  you.  I've  never  touched  your 
father's  life  insurance,  and  I  can  get  along  nicely 
on  his  pension.  And  you're  a  first-class  secretary — 
rector  after  rector  has  said  that.  So  you  can  easily 
find  another  position." 

"  You  find  another  job,  Sue,"  interposed  Hattie, 
"  and  my  mother  will  invite  your  mother  to 
Buffalo  to  live.  I'll  bequeath  my  room."  She 
laughed. 

Mrs.  Milo  ignored  her.  "  But  while  I  am  forced 
to  live  here,  I  shall  protect  the  Rectory.  Further- 
more, I  shall  tell  Mr.  Farvel  so."  She  turned 
toward  the  library. 

"  Oh,  mother,  no ! "  Sue  followed,  and  caught 
at  her  mother's  arm.  "  Not  today !  There's  a  dear, 
sweet  mother !  " 

"  Sue !  "  cried  Hattie.  Her  look  questioned  the 
other  anxiously. 

But  Mrs.  Milo  felt  no  concern  for  the  minister. 
She  freed  herself  from  Sue's  hold.  "  You  seem 
very  much  worried  about  him,"  she  returned 
jealously,  staring  at  Sue. 


46  Apron-Strings 

"You  think  he's  unhappy?"  persisted  Hattie. 

"There!"  exclaimed  Sue.  "You  see,  mother? 
Hattie's  worried,  too.  It's  natural,  isn't  it, 
Hattie?" 

"  Well,  it's  all  nonsense,"  pronounced  Mrs.  Milo. 
"  He  isn't  unhappy.  Wallace  has  known  him  longer 
than  we  have,  and  he  says  Mr.  Farvel  has  always 
been  like  that." 

Sue  patted  her  mother's  cheek  playfully.  "  Then 
let's  not  make  him  any  sadder,"  she  said.  "  Every- 
thing must  be  '  Bless  you,  my  children '  around 
this  place  today.  We  don't  want  any  '  Earth  to 
earth,  ashes  to  ashes.' "  She  gave  her  parent  a 
hearty  kiss. 

Mrs.  Milo  was  at  once  mollified.  "  I  hope,"  she 
went  on  gently,  "  that  Mr.  Farvel  didn't  have  to 
know  why  Hattie  is  being  married  here  instead  of 
in  Buffalo." 

Sue  made  a  comical  face.  "  I  explained,"  she 
began  roguishly,  "  that  the  Rectory  is — er — neutral 
territory." 

"  Neutral,"  repeated  Hattie,  with  a  hint  of  bit- 
terness. 

Once  more  a  jealous  light  had  crept  into  Mrs. 
Milo*s  blue  eyes.      "  Why   should   you   give   Mr. 


Apron-Strings  47 

Farvel  the  confidences  of  the  family?"  she  de- 
manded. 

''  I  had  to."  Sue  threw  up  helpless  hands. 
"  Mr.  Balcome  refused  to  walk  down  the  aisle  with 
Mrs.  Balcome  after  the  ceremony.  That  meant  no 
Church.  Then  he  refused  to  have  her  stand  beside 
him  in  here.  But  he  can't  refuse  to  gather  on  the 
lawn!" 

"  Sue,"  said  Hattie,  "  you  have  a  trusting 
nature." 

"But  what's  he  afraid  of?"  Sue  asked.  "She 
wouldn't  bite  him." 

"  Who  wouldn't  bite  whof 

The  three  turned  toward  the  vestibule  door.  A 
large  person  was  entering — a  lady,  in  an  elaborate 
street  gown  of  a  somewhat  striking  plum-color, 
crowned  by  an  ample  hat  with  spreading,  fern-like 
plumes.  About  her  throat  was  a  veritable  cascade 
of  white  crepe  collar;  and  against  the  crepe,  car- 
ried high,  and  appearing  not  unlike  a  decoration, 
was  a  tiny  buff-and-black  dog. 

"  Ah,  my  dear !  "  cried  Mrs.  Milo,  warmly. 

Sue  chuckled.  "I  was  just  remarking,  Mrs. 
Balcome,"  she  replied,  "that  you  wouldn't  bite 
Hattie's  father." 


48  Apron-Strings 

Mrs.  Balcome,  her  face  dyeing  with  the  effort, 
set  down  the  tiny  dog  upon  the  cherished  Brussels. 
"  Don't  be  so  sure ! "  she  cautioned.  She  had  a 
deep  voice  that  rumbled. 

Hattie  pointed  a  finger  at  Sue.  "  Ah-h-a-a-a ! " 
she  triumphed. 

*'  Ah-h-a-a-a-a !  "  mocked  her  mother.  Then 
coming  closer,  and  looking  the  wedding-dress  over 
critically,  **  Rehearsing,  eh,  in  your  wedding- 
dress!  What  would  Buffalo  think  if  it  saw 
you ! "  With  which  rebuff,  she  sank,  blowing, 
upon  the  couch,  and  drew  Mrs.  Milo  down  beside 
her. 

"  Oh,'  why  didn't  you  have  your  parents  toss 
up?"  asked  Sue. 

"  Pitchforks  ?  "  inquired  Hattie. 

"  No !  To  see  which  one  would  be  unavoidably 
called  out  of  town." 

"  Oh,  I've  tried  compromise,"  said  the  girl, 
wearily. 

"  Well,  ABC  mediation  never  was  much  of  a 
success  up  around  Buffalo,"  went  on  Sue,  her  eyes 
twinkling  with  fun.  "  Ho-hum !  The  Secretary  of 
State  " — she  indicated  herself — "  v/ill  see  what  she 
can  do."     And  strolHng  to  the  sofa,  "  Mrs.  Bal- 


Apron-Strings  49 

come,  hadn't  we  better  talk  this  rehearsal  over  with 
the  head  of  the  house?  " 

Mrs.  Balcome  swept  round.  "  Talk?  "  she  cried. 
"Talk?    Why,  I  never  speak  to  him." 

Sue  gasped.     "Wha-a-at?" 

"  Never,"  confirmed  Hattie.  "  And  he  never 
talks  to  her — except  through  me." 

Sue  was  incredulous.     ^You  mean "     And 

pantomimed,  pointing  from  an  imaginary  speaker 
to  Hattie;  from  Hattie  to  a  second  speaker;  then 
back. 

"  Exactly." 

Sue  pretended  to  be  overwhelmed.  She  sank 
to  a  chair.  "  Oh,  that  sounds  wonderful ! "  she 
cried.    ''  I  want  to  try  it !  " 

"  That  new  job  youVe  looking  for,"  suggested 
Hattie.    "  You  know  I  resign  tomorrow." 

Sue  rose  and  struck  an  absurd  attitude.  "  Be- 
hold Susan  Milo,  the  Human  Telephone ! "  she  an- 
nounced. And  to  Hattie's  mother,  "  Where  is  Mr. 
Balcome  ?  " 

By  now,  Mrs.  Balcome  had  entirely  recover'- J 
her  breath.  "  Where  he  is,"  she  answered  calmly, 
**  or  what  he  does,  is  of  no  importance  to  me."  She 
picked  at  the  crepe  cascade. 


50  Apron-Strings 

Sue  exchanged  a  look  with  her  mother.  "  Well — 
er — he'll  be  here?"  she  ventured. 

Mrs.  Balcome  lifted  her  ample  shoulders.  "  I 
don't  know,  and  I  don't  care."  She  fell  to  caress- 
ing the  dog. 

Sue  nodded  understandingly  to  Hattie.  "The 
Secretary  of  State,"  she  declared,  "  is  going  to 
have  her  hands  full."  Whereupon  the  two  sat 
down  at  either  side  of  the  center  table,  leaned  their 
arms  upon  it,  and  gave  themselves  up  to  paroxysms 
of  silent  laughter. 


CHAPTER  II 

Not  far  away,  in  an  upper  room,  two  men  were 
facing  each  other  across  a  table — the  wide,  heavy 
work-table  of  the  Rectory  "  study."  The  *'  study  '* 
was  a  south  room,  and  into  it  the  May  sun  poured 
like  a  warm  stream,  to  fade  further  the  green  of 
the  "  cartridge  "  paper  on  the  walls  and  the  figures 
of  the  "  art-square  "  that  covered  the  floor,  and  to 
bring  out  with  cruel  distinctness  the  quantities  of 
dust  that  Dora  was  allowed  to  disturb  not  more 
frequently  than  once  a  week.  For  the  *'  study " 
was  a  place  sacred  to  the  privacy  of  each  suc- 
ceeding clergyman.  And  here,  face  to  face,  Alan 
Farvel  and  the  bridegroom-to-be  were  ending  a 
long,  grave  conversation — a  prenuptial  conversa- 
tion invited  by  the  younger  man. 

Wallace  Milo  was  twenty-eight,  and  over-tall,  so 
that  he  carried  himself  with  an  almost  apologetic 
drooping  stoop,  as  if  he  were  conscious  of  >.is 
length  and  sought  to  make  it  less  noticeable.  It 
was  an  added  misfortune  in  his  eyes  that  he  was 
spare.     In   sharp   contrast   to   his  sister,   he   was 

51 


52  Apron-Strings 

pale — a  paleness  accentuated  by  his  dark  hair,  which 
was  thick,  and  sHghtly  curly,  and  piled  itself  up 
in  an  unconquerable  pompadour  that  added  to  his 
height.  Those  who  saw  Mrs.  Milo  and  Sue  to- 
gether invariably  remarked,  "  Isn't  the  devotion  of 
mother  and  daughter  perfectly  beautiful !  "  Just  as 
surely  did  these  same  people  observe,  when  they 
saw  brother  and  sister  side  by  side,  "  There  are 
two  children  who  look  as  if  they  aren't  even 
related." 

Alan  Farvel,  though  only  a  dozen  years  the 
senior  of  Wallace,  had  the  look  and  the  bearing  of 
a  man  much  older  than  forty.  His  face  was  deep 
lined,  and  his  hair  was  well  grayed.  But  his  eyes 
were  young;  blue  and  smiling,  they  transformed 
his  whole  face.  It  was  as  if  his  face  had  registered 
the  responsibilities  and  worries  that  his  eyes  had 
never  recognized. 

He  was  speaking.  "  I  know  exactly  how  you  feel, 
Wallace.  I  think  every  decent  chap  feels  like  that 
the  day  before  he  marries.  He  wants  to  look  back 
on  every  year,  and  search  out  every  mean  thought, 
and  every  unworthy  action — if  there  is  one.  But " 
— ^he  reached  to  take  the  other's  hand — "  you 
needn't  be  blaming  yourself,  old  man.     Ha-ha-a-a! 


Apron-Strings  53 

Don't  I  know  you!  Why,  bless  the  ridiculous 
boy,  you  couldn't  do  a  downright  bad  thing 
if  you  wanted  to!  You're  the  very  soul  of 
honor." 

Wallace  got  to  his  feet — started,  rather,  as  if 
there  was  something  which  Farvel's  words  had  all 
but  driven  him  to  say,  but  which  he  was  striving 
to  keep  back.  Resolutely  he  looked  out  of  the 
window,  swaying  a  little,  with  one  hand  holding  to 
the  edge  of  the  table  so  tightly  that  his  finger-ends 
were  bloodless. 

"  The  very  soul  of  honor,"  repeated  Farvel, 
watching  the  half-averted  face. 

Wallace  sank  down.  "  Oh,  Alan,"  he  began 
huskily,  '*  I'll  treat  her  right — tenderly  and — and 
honorably.  I  love  her — I  can't  tell  you  how  I 
love  her." 

Farvel  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Then, 
"  Everybody  loves  her,"  he  said,  huskily  too. 

"Oh,  not  the  right  way — not  her  parents,  I 
mean.  They  haven't  ever  considered  her — you 
know  that.  She  hasn't  had  a  home — or  hap- 
piness." He  touched  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  a 
hand. 

"  Make  her  happy."    Farvel's  voice  was  deep  with 


54  Apron-Strings 

feeling.  "  She's  had  all  the  things  money  can  buy. 
Now — give  her  what  is  priceless." 

''I  will!     I  will!" 

"  Faithfulness,  and  unselfish  love,  and  tenderness 
when  she's  ill,  and — best  of  all,  Wallace, — peace. 
Don't  ever  let  the  first  quarrel " 

"  Quarrel !  " 

"  I  fancy  most  men  don't  anticipate  unpleasant- 
ness when  they  marry.  But  this  or  that  turns 
up  and  marriage  takes  forbearance."  He  rose. 
"  Now,  I've  been  talking  to  you  as  if  you  were 
some  man  I  know  only  casually — instead  of  the 
old  fellow  who's  so  near  and  dear  to  me.  I  know 
your  good  heart,  your  clean  soul " 

Wallace  again  stood.     "  Oh,  don't  think  I'm  an 

angel,"  he  plead.    *'I — I "    Once  more  that  grip 

on  the  table.    He  shut  his  jaws  tight.    He  trembled. 

"  Now,  this  will  do,"  said  Farvel,  gently. 
"  Come !  We'll  go  down  and  see  how  prepara- 
tions are  going  forward.  A  little  work  won't  be 
a  bad  thing  for  you  today."  He  gave  the  younger 
man  a  playful  pull  around  the  end  of  the  table. 
"  You  know,  I  find  that  all  bridegrooms  get  into 
a  very  exaggerated  state  of  self-examination  and 
self-blame  just  before  they  marry.     You're  run- 


Apron-Strings  55 

ning  true  to  form."  He  took  Wallace's  arm 
affectionately. 

As  they  entered  the  drawing-room,  Mrs.  Milo 
uprose  from  the  sofa,  hands  thrown  wide  in  a 
quick  warning.  "  Oh,  don't  bring  him  in !  "  she 
cried,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  an  excited 
figurine. 

"  It's  bad  luck ! "  chimed  in  Mrs.  Balcome, 
realizing  the  state  of  affairs  without  turning. 

The  younger  women  at  the  table  had  also  risen, 
and  now  Hattie  came  forward  to  meet  the  men, 
smiling  at  Farvel,  and  picking  out  the  flounces  of 
her  gown  to  invite  his  approval. 

"Oh,  you  shouldn't  see  it  till  tomorrow,"  com- 
plained Mrs.  Milo,  appealing  to  her  son. 

Farvel  laughed.  "  How  could  it  bring  anyone 
bad  luck?"  he  demanded;  " — to  see  such  a 
picture."  He  halted,  one  arm  about  Wallace's 
shoulder. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  cried  Hattie.  "Do  you 
really?    Oh,  I'm  glad!" 

Sue,  puzzled,  was  watching  Farvel,  who  seemed 
so  unwontedly  good-spirited,  even  gay.  "  Why,  Mr. 
Farvel,"  she  interposed ;  "  I — I — never  thought  you 
noticed  clothes — not — not  anybody's  clothes."    She 


56  Apron-Strings 

looked  down  at  her  own  dress  a  little  ruefully.  It 
was  of  serge,  dark,  neat,  but  well  worn. 

"Well,  I  don't  as  a  rule,"  he  laughed.  "But 
this  creation  wouldn't  escape  even  a  blind  man.'* 
Hands  in  pockets,  and  head  to  one  side,  he  admired 
the  slowly  circling  satin-and-tulle. 

Before  Sue,  on  the  table,  was  a  morning  news- 
paper; behind  her,  on  the  piano,  the  vestment  which 
Mrs.  Milo  had  thrown  down.  Quickly  covering  the 
garment  with  the  paper.  Sue  caught  up  both  and 
made  toward  the  hall  door. 

"  Susan  dear !  "  Her  mother  smiled  across  Mrs. 
Balcome's  trembling  plumes.  "  Where  are  you 
going?" 

"  Er — some — some  extra  chairs,"  ventured  Sue. 
"  I  thought — one  or  two " 

Mrs.  Milo  crossed  the  room  leisurely.  The  trio 
absorbed  in  the  wedding-gown  were  laughing  and 
chatting  together.  Mrs.  Balcome  had  rushed 
heavily  to  the  bay-window  in  the  wake  of  the 
poodle,  who,  from  the  window-seat,  was  bark- 
ing, black  nose  against  the  glass,  at  some  ven- 
turesome sparrows.  Quietly  Mrs.  Milo  took  paper 
and  vestment  from  Sue  and  tucked  them  under  an 
arm.    "  We  have  plenty  of  chairs,"  she  said  sweetly. 


Apron-Strings  57 

"Yes,"  assented  Sue,  obediently;  ''  yes,  I — I  sup- 
pose we  have."  Her  eyes  fell  before  her  mother's 
look.  Again  it  was  as  if  a  small  child  had  been 
surprised  in  naughtiness. 

Now  from  the  Church  sounded  the  voices  of  the 
choir.  The  burring  bell  had  summoned  to  more, 
and  still  more,  practice  of  tomorrow's  music,  and  a 
score  of  boys,  their  song  coming  loud  and  clear 
from  the  near  distance,  were  rendering  the  Wed- 
ding March  from  "  Lohengrin." 

A  curious,  and  instant,  change  came  over  Farvel. 
His  laughter  stopped;  he  retreated,  and   fumbled 

with  one  hand  at  his  hair.     "Oh,  that — that " 

he  murmured  under  his  breath. 

"  Alan !  "  Wallace  went  to  him. 

"  It's  nothing,"   protested   Farvel.     "  Nothing." 

Sue  made  as  if  to  open  the  library  door.  It  was 
plain  that,  ill  or  troubled,  Farvel  was  eager  to  get 
away. 

"  Wait,"  said  her  mother. 

Wallace  turned  the  clergyman  toward  the  door 
leading  to  the  Church.  "  Come,  old  man,"  he 
urged.    "  Let's  go  right  in.    That's  best." 

Farvel  permitted  himself  to  be  half -led.  But  he 
paused  part  way  to  look  back  at  the  quartette  of 


^8  Apron-Strings 

ladies  standing,  silent  and  watchful,  at  the  center  of 
the  room.  "It's  all  right,"  he  assured  them,  smiling 
wanly  at  Hattie.  He  tried  to  speak  casually.  "  Let 
me  know  when  you're  ready  to  rehearse."  Wallace 
had  reached  out  to  draw  Farvel  through  the  door. 
It  closed  behind  them. 

Sue  made  as  if  to  follow  the  two  men.  But  once 
more  her  mother  interposed.  "  Susan !  "  And  then 
in  explanation,  "  I  wouldn't — they'll  want  to  be 
alone." 

Now,  as  if  silenced  by  an  order,  the  choir  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  a  bar. 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Balcome.  "  Positively 
tragic !  "  She  gathered  up  the  dog  and  sank  upon 
the  sofa. 

"  Of  course,  you  saw  what  did  it,"  observed 
Mrs.  Milo. 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Hattie,  almost  challengingly. 

"The  wedding-march."  And  when  that  had 
sunk  in,  "  Wallace  knew.  Didn't  you  hear  what  he 
said?  He  wanted  Mr.  Farvel  to — to  conquer  the 
— the — whatever  it  was  he  felt.  I'll  wager"  (Mrs. 
Milo  permitted  herself  to  "  wager  "  under  the  stress 
of  excitement,  never  to  "bet")  "that  he's  broken 
his  engagement,  or  something  of  that  sort.'* 


Apron-Strings  59 

Hattie  stared  resentfully. 

"  Engagement?  "  repeated  Sue. 

Mrs.  Milo's  blue  eyes  sparkled  with  triumph. 
*'  Well,  it  wouldn't  surprise  me,"  she  declared. 

Sue's  color  deepened.  *' Why,  of  course,  he 
isn't,"  she  answered  defensively.  *'  He'd  say  so — 
he  wouldn't  keep  a  matter  like  that  secret.  It  isn't 
like  him — a  whole  year." 

Her  mother  smiled  at  her  fondly.  **  There's 
nothing  to  get  excited  about,  my  daughter." 

"  But,  mother,  it's  absurd." 

Mrs.  Milo  strolled  to  a  chair  and  seated  herself 
with  elaborate  care.  "  Well,  anyway,"  she  argued, 
"  he  carries  a  girl's  picture  in  his  pocket." 

In  the  pause  that  followed,  a  telephone  began  to 
ring  persistently  from  the  direction  of  the  library. 
But  Sue  seemed  not  to  hear  it.  "  A  picture,"  she 
said  slowly.  And  as  her  mother  assented,  smiling, 
"  And — and  what  did  he  say  when  he  showed  it 
to  you?" 

Mrs.  Milo  started.  "  Well,— er— the  fact  is," 
she  admitted,  "  he  didn't  exactly  show  it  to  me." 

"  Oh."    It  was  scarcely  more  than  a  breath. 

Mrs.  Milo  tossed  her  head.  *'  No,"  she  added 
tartly,    a    trifle    ruffled    by    what    the   low-spoken 


6o  Apron-Strings 

exclamation  so  plainly  implied.  "If  you  must 
know,  it  fell  out  of  his  bureau  drawer." 

Mrs.  Balcome  threw  out  a  plump  arm  across  the 
bending  back  of  the  sofa  and  touched  a  sleeve  of 
the  satin  gown  covertly.  "  Hm ! "  she  coughed, 
with  meaning. 

But  Hattie  only  moved  aside  irritably.  Of  a 
sudden,  she  was  strangely  pale. 

Dora  entered.  "  Miss  Susan,  a  telephone  sum- 
mons," she  announced. 

"  Yes — yes," — absent-mindedly. 

When  she  was  gone,  Mrs.  Milo  rose  and  hastened 
to  Dora,  who  seemed  on  guard  as  she  waited,  leaned 
against  the  library  door.  "Who  is  telephoning?" 
she  asked. 

Dora^s  eyes  narrowed — to  hide  their  smile.  "  Oh, 
Mrs.  Milo,"  she  answered,  intoning  gravely,  "  the 
fourth  verse,  of  the  thirteenth  chapter — or  is  it  the 
ninth? — of  Isaiah."  With  face  raised,  as  if  she 
were  still  cudgeling  her  brain,  she  crossed  toward 
the  vestibule. 

"  Isaiah — Isaiah,"  murmured  Mrs.  Milo.  Then, 
as  Dora  seemed  about  to  escape,  "  Dora ! — I 
wouldn^t  speak  in  parables,  my  child,  when  there 
are  others  present."    She  smiled  kindly. 


Apron-Strings  6i 

"It  is  the  soloist  telephoning,"  explained  Dora; 
then,  so  deliberately  as  almost  to  be  impudent,  "  A 
girl/' 

Mrs.  Milo  showed  instant  relief.  "  Oh,  the 
soloist!  Such  a  dear  girl.  She  sang  here  a  year 
or  so  ago.    Yes, — Miss  Crosby." 

Dora  out,  Mrs.  Balcome  turned  a  look  of  wisdom 
upon  her  hostess.  "  I  see,"  she  insinuated,  "  that 
weVe  very  much  interested  in  the  new  minister." 

Like  that  of  a  startled  deer,  up  came  Mrs.  Milo's 
head.    "  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  demanded. 

"If  he  isn't  engaged  already,  prepare  for  wed- 
ding Number  Two." 

''Weddingf'' 

Mrs.  Balcome  tipped  forward  bulkily.  "  Sue," 
she  nodded. 

Mrs.  Milo  got  to  her  feet.  "  Sue !  What're  you 
talking  about?  Why,  she  never  even  speaks  of 
marriage." 

"  Well,  maybe  she— thinks." 

"  She  doesn't  think,  either.  She  has  her  work, 
and — and  her  home."  Mrs.  Milo  was  fairly 
trembling. 

"  How  do  you  know  she  doesn't  think  ?  It's 
perfectly  natural." 


62  Apron-Strings 

"  I  know.  And  please  don't  bring  up  the  subject 
in  her  presence.'* 

"  Why,  my  dear !  "  chided  Mrs.  Balcome,  amazed 
at  the  passion  flaming  in  the  blue  eyes. 

"  And  don't  tease  her  about  Mr.  Farvel."  That 
voice  so  habitually  well  modulated  became  suddenly 
shrill. 

"  Don't  you  like  him  ?  " — soothingly. 

"  Not  well  enough  to  give  my  daughter  to  him.'* 

"  Well,"  simpered  Mrs.  Balcome,  all  elephantine 
playfulness,  "  we  mustn't  expect  perfection  in  our 
son-in-laws.  Though  Wallace  is  wonderful — isn't 
he,  Hattie?" 

Hattie's  back  was  turned.  "  I — I  suppose  so," 
she  answered,  low. 

"  You  suppose  so !  "  Mrs.  Balcome  was  shocked. 
"  I  must  say,  Hattie,  you're  taking  this  whole  thing 
very  calmly — ^very.  And  right  in  front  of  the  boy's 
mother ! " 

"  Sue  is  perfectly  contented," — it  was  Mrs.  Milo 
once  more — "perfectly  happy.  And  besides,  she's 
a  little  older  than  Mr.  Farvel."  This  with  a  note 
of  satisfaction. 

Mrs.  Balcome  stroked  the  dog.  "  What's  a  year 
or  two,"  she  urged. 


Apron-Strings  63 

"  Not  in  a  man's  life.  But  in  a  woman's,  a  year 
is  like  five — at  Sue's  time  of  life." 

"  Those  make  the  happiest  kind  of  marriages," 
persisted  Mrs.  Balcome;  " — the  very  happiest." 

Again  Mrs.  Milo's  voice  rose  stridently.  "  Please 
drop  the  subject,"  she  begged. 

Mrs.  Balcome  struggled  up.  "  Oh,  very  well. 
But  you  know,  my  dear,  that  a  woman  finds  her 
real  happiness  in  marriage.  Because  after  all  is 
said  and  done,  marriage " 

"  Mr.  John  Balcome,"  annc  inced  Dora,  appear- 
ing from  the  vestibule. 

As  if  knocked  breathless  by  a  blow,  Mrs.  Balcome 
cut  short  her  sentence,  went  rigid,  and  clutched  the 
loose  coat  of  the  poodle  so  tightly  that  four  short 
legs  stood  out  stiflF,  and  two  small  eyes  became  mere 
sHts. 

Mrs.  Milo  met  the  emergency.  "  Oh,  yes,  Dora," 
she  said  sweetly;  and  flashed  her  guest  a  look  of 
warning. 

"Till  rehearsal,"  went  on  Dora,  in  a  mournful 
sing-song,  "  Mr.  Balcome  prefers  to  remain  on  the 
sidewalk." 

Mrs.  Milo  pretended  not  to  understand.  "  Oh, 
we  don't  mind  his  cigar,"  she  protested.     **  Ask 


64  Apron-Strings 

him  in/'  And  as  the  girl  trailed  out,  "  I  do  hope 
your  husband  won't  say  anything  to  that  child. 
She  takes  the  Scriptures  so — so  literally." 

Hattie  crossed  to  her  mother.  "  Shan't  I  carry 
Babette  upstairs  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No !  "  Mrs.  Balcome  jerked  rudely  away. 

"  But  she  annoys  father." 

"  Why  do  you  think  I  brought  her  ?  " 

"  Oh ! — Well,  in  that  case,  please  don't  let  me 
interfere."    She  went  out,  banging  a  door. 

"Now!  Now!"  pleaded  Mrs.  Milo,  lifting 
entreating  hands. 

Balcome  entered.  He  was  a  large  man,  curiously 
like  his  wife  in  type,  for  he  had  the  same  florid 
stoutness,  the  same  rather  small  and  pale  eye.  His 
well-worn  sack  suit  hung  on  him  loosely.  He 
carried  a  large  soft  hat  in  one  hand,  and  with  it 
he  continually  flopped  nervously  at  a  knee.  As 
he  caught  sight  of  the  two  women,  he  twisted  his 
face  into  a  scowl. 

Mrs.  Milo,  all  smiles,  and  with  outstretched 
hands,  floated  toward  him  in  her  most  graceful 
manner.  "  Ah,  Brother  Balcome ! "  she  cried 
warmly. 

Balcome  halted,  seized  her  left  hand,  gave  it  a 


Apron-Strings  65 

single  shake,  dropped  it,  and  stalked  across  the 
drawing-room  head  in  air.  ''  Don't  call  me 
brother,"  he  said  crossly. 

Dora,  going  libraryward,  stopped  to  view  him  in 
mingled  reproval  and  sorrow. 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ? "  he  de- 
manded.   "Eh?     Eh?" 

She  shook  her  head,  put  her  finger-tips  together, 
and  directed  her  gaze  upon  the  ceiling.  "  *  For  ye 
have  need  of  patience,'  "  she  quoted. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  impudent "  began  Balcome, 

giving  his  knee  a  loud  "  whop  "  with  the  hat. 

"Hebrews,"  interrupted  Dora;  " — Hebrews, 
tenth  chapter,  and  thirty-sixth  verse." 

Balcome  nodded.  "  I  guess  you're  right,"  he 
confided.  "Patience.  That's  it."  And  to  Mrs. 
Milo,  "  Say,  when  do  we  rehearse  this  tragedy?  " — 
Whereat  Dora  cupped  one  hand  over  her  mouth 
and  fled  the  room. 

Mrs.  Balcome  was  stung  to  action.  "Hear 
that!"  she  cried,  appealing  to  Mrs.  Milo.  "A 
father,  of  his  daughter's  wedding!" 

"  Oh,  sh !  "  cautioned  Mrs.  Milo. 

Balcome  glared.  "  Let  me  tell  you  this,"  he  went 
on,  as  if  to  the  room  in  general,  "  if  Hattie's  going 


66  Apron-Strings 

to  act  like  her  mother,  she'd  better  stop  the  whole 
business  today."    He  sat  down. 

"  Now,  Brother  Balcome," — this  pleadingly. 

"  Don't  call  me  brother! "  shouted  Mr.  Balcome. 

That  shout,  like  a  shot,  brought  Mrs.  Balcome 
down.  She  plumped  upon  the  sofa.  "  Oh,  now  you 
see  what  I  have  to  bear !  "  she  wailed.  ""  Now,  you 
understand !  Oh !  ,  Oh !  "  She  buried  her  face  in 
the  coat  of  the  convenient  Babette. 

Mrs.  Milo  hastened  to  her,  soothing,  imploring. 
And  Balcome  rose,  to  pace  the  floor,  flapping  at  his 
knee  with  each  step. 

"  Now,  you  see  what  /  have  to  bear,"  he  mocked. 
"  My  only  daughter  marries,  and  her  mother  brings 
that  hunk  of  hydrophobia  to  rehearsal." 

At  this  critical  juncture,  with  Mrs.  Balcome's 
weeping  gaining  in  volume,  a  gay  voice  sounded 
from  the  library — "  Toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot- 
toot  ! "  The  library  door  opened,  disclosing  Sue. 
She  let  the  doorway  frame  her,  and  waited,  in- 
viting attention.  She  was  no  longer  in  her  simple 
work-dress.  Silk  and  net  and  lace — this  was  her 
bridesmaid's  gown. 

Balcome's  face  widened  in  a  grin.  "  By  Jove, 
you  look  fine !  " 


Apron-Strings  67 

"Thankf  to  you!" 

"Shush!  Shush!"  He  shook  hands.  "Not 
married  yet  ?  " 

Mrs.  Milo,  busily  engaged  in  quieting  Mrs.  Bal- 
come,  lifted  her  head,  but  without  turning. 

"  If  "  laughed  Sue. 

"  Understand  there's  a  good-looking  parson 
here." 

A  quick  smile — toward  the  door  leading  to  the 
Church.  Sue  fell  to  arranging  her  dress.  "  Mm, 
yes,"  she  answered,  a  little  absent-mindedly;  "yes, 
there  is — one  here." 

"  Oh,  marry !  Marry !  Marry !  "  scolded  Mrs. 
Milo.    "  I  think  people  are  marry  crazy." 

Balcome  laughed.  "  I  believe  you ! — Sue,  why 
don't  you  capture  that  parson  ?  " 

Mrs.  Milo  rose,  taking  a  peep  at  the  tiny  watch 
hidden  under  the  frill  at  a  wrist.  "  Susan,"  she 
said  sweetly,  "  will  you  see  what  the  florist  is 
doing?" 

"  Oh,  he's  all  right,  mother  dear.    He " 

'*  Do  you  want  your  mother  to  do  it?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  mother.  No."  All  gauze  and  sheen, 
like  a  mammoth  butterfly,  Sue  hurried  across  the 
room. 


68  Apron-Strings 

"  I  must  save  my  strength  for  tomorrow/*  ex- 
plained Mrs.  Milo,  and  turned  with  that  benevolent 
smile.  The  next  moment  she  flung  up  her  hands. 
"Susan!" 

Sue  halted.  "  Ah-ha-a-a-a !  "  she  cried  trium- 
phantly. "  I  thought  it'd  surprise  you,  mother ! 
Isn't  it  lovely?  Isn't  it  beautiful?  Isn't  it  an  im- 
provement over  that  old  gray  satin  of  mine?  "  She 
came  back  to  stroll  to  and  fro,  parading.  "  As  Ikey 
says,  *  Ain't  it  peaches  ?  '  " 

"  Tum-tum-tee-tum,"  hummed  Balcome,  in  an  at- 
tempt at  the  wedding-march. 

"Susan!  Stop!"  ordered  Mrs.  Milo.  "Where, 
if  you  please,  have  you  come  by  such  a  dress?" 

Even  Mrs.  Balcome  was  listening,  having  for- 
gotten her  own  troubles  in  the  double  interest  of 
the  promised  quarrel  and  the  attractive  costume. 

Sue  arraigned  Mr.  Balcome  with  a  finger. 
"Well,  this  nice  person  told  Hattie  to  order  it 
for  me  from  her  dressmaker." 

"  To  land  that  parson,"  added  Balcome,  wickedly. 

"  He  gave  me  two,"  went  on  Sue,  turning  a  chin 
over  one  shoulder  in  a  vain  attempt  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  her  back.  "  The  other  one  is  wonderful !  I'm — 
I'm  keeping  the  other  one." 


Apron-Strings  69 

" '  Keeping  the  other  one  *?"  repeated  her 
mother. 

Sue  tried  the  other  shoulder.  "  Well,  I — I 
might  need  it  for  something  special,"  she  explained. 

"  Will  you  please  stop  that  performance  ?  "  de- 
manded her  mother.  "  My  daughter,  the  dress  is 
ridiculous ! " 

Sue  stared.    "Ridiculous?" 

"  Showy— loud." 

"  But — but  it's  my  bridesmaid's  dress." 

"  I  tell  you,  it's  unsuited — a  woman  of  forty-five  I 
Please  go  and  change." 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  put  in  Balcome,  a  little  sharply. 
"  You  never  think  of  Sue  as  being  forty-five." 
Then  with  a  large  wave  of  the  hand  in  Sue's  di- 
rection, "  What  do  you  want  to  make  her  feel 
older  than  she  is  for  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  such  intention,"  retorted  Mrs.  Milo, 
coldly — and  righteously.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  think 
Susan  is  well  preserved." 

"  Preserved !  "  gasped  Sue,  both  hands  to  her 
head. 

"  Preserved  grandmother ! "  scoffed  Balcome. 
"  Sue  looks  like  a  bride  herself.  Sue,  when  that 
parson  gets  his  eye  on  you " 


yo  Apron-Strings 

Mrs.  Milo  saw  herself  outdone.  Her  safety  lay- 
in  harassing  him.  "  Speaking  of  eyes,  Mr.  Bal- 
come,"  she  said  sweetly,  "  it  strikes  me  that  yours 
look  as  if  you'd  been  up  all  night." 

Mrs.  Balcome  rose  to  the  stimulus.  "  Susan ! " 
she  summoned. 

"Yes,  dear  lady?" 

"  You  will  kindly  ask  my  husband " 

"  Go  ahead,  Mrs.  Balcome,"  invited  Sue,  re- 
signedly. And,  turning  an  imaginary  handle, 
"  Ting-a-ling-ling !  " 

Mrs.  Milo,  beaming  with  satisfaction,  made 
her  way  daintily  to  the  passage  door.  "  I 
think  ril  call  the  choir,"  she  observed,  and  disap- 
peared. 

Like  a  war  steed  pawing  the  earth  with  impatient 
hoof,  Mrs.  Balcome  tapped  the  carpet.  Her  eye 
was  set,  her  mouth  was  pursed.  Though  her  dress 
was  of  some  soft  material,  she  seemed  fairly  to 
bristle.  "How  long  has  Hattie's  father  been  in 
town  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  But  you  don't  care,"  reminded  Sue. 

"  How  long?  "  persisted  the  other. 

With  comical  gravity,  Sue  turned  upon  Balcome. 
"How  long  has  Hattie's  father  been  in  town?" 


Apron-Strings  71 

she  echoed.  And  as  he  held  up  all  the  fingers  of 
one  hand,  "  Oh,  two — or  three — or  four  " — a  cau- 
tious testing  of  Mrs.  Balcome's  temper. 

That  lady's  ample  bosom  rose  and  fell  tempestu- 
ously. "  And  I've  had  everything  to  do ! "  she 
complained;  *' — everything!  Why  haven't  we  seen 
him  before  ? " 

"  Mister  Man,"  questioned  Sue,  *'  why  haven't 
we  seen  you  before  ?  " 

Balcome  rubbed  his  hands  together,  chuckling. 
"Yes,  why?    Why?" 

"  Business,  Mrs.  Balcome,"  parried  Sue;  " — press 
of  business." 

"  Business !  "  cried  the  elder  woman,  scornfully. 
"  Huh! — and  where  is  he  staying?  " 

"  But  you  said  yourself,  *  Where  he  is,  or  what 

he  does' "     Then  as  Mrs.  Balcome  rotated  to 

stare  at  her  resentfully,  "  Where  is  '  he '  staying, 
Mr.  Balcome?" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  bellowed  Balcome. 
Leaning,  he  imparted  something  to  Sue  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Where?  "  persisted  his  wife. 

"He's  at  the  Astor,"  declared  Sue,  and  was 
swept  with  Balcome  into  a  gale  of  mirth. 


72  Apron-Strings 

"Don't  treat  this  as  a  joke,  my  dear  Susan," 
warned  Mrs,  Balcome. 

"  Oh,  joke.  Sue !  Joke !  "  cried  Balcome,  flapping 
at  Sue  with  his  hat.  "  If  there's  one  thing  I  Hke  to 
see  in  a  woman  it's  a  sense  of  humor." 

"  Your  husband  appreciates  your  sense  of 
humor,"  chanted  Sue,  returning  to  her  telephoning. 

"  If  there's  one  thing  I  like  to  see  in  a  man," 
returned  Mrs.  Balcome,  "  it's  a  sense  of  decency." 

"  Your  wife  admires  your  sense  of  decency," 
continued  the  transmitter. 

"  She  talks  about  decency  " — Balcome  spoke  con- 
fidentially— "  and  she  brings  a  pup  to  rehearsal." 

"  She  brings  a  darling  doggie  to  rehearsal,"  trans- 
lated Sue. 

By  now,  Mrs.  Balcome  was  serenity  itself.  "  A 
pup  at  rehearsal,"  she  observed,  "  is  more  acceptable 
than  one  man  I  could  name." 

"  Aw,"  began  Balcome,  reaching,  as  it  were,  for 
a  suitable  retort. 

Sue  put  up  imploring  hands.  Hattie  had  just 
entered,  having  changed  from  her  wedding-dress. 
"  Now,  wait !  This  line  is  busy,"  she  declared. 
And  to  Hattie,  "  Oh,  my  dear,  why  didn't  you 
arrange  for  two  ceremonies !  " 


Apron-Strings  73 

"Do  you  mean  bigamy?"  inquired  the  girl, 
dryly,  aware  of  the  atmosphere  of  trouble. 

"  I  mean  one  ceremony  for  father,  and  one  for 
mother,"  answered  Sue. 

Both  belligerents  advanced  upon  her.  "  Now, 
Susan,"  began  Mrs.  Balcome.  And  "  Look-a 
here !  "   exclaimed   Balcome. 

The  sad  voice  of  Dora  interrupted.  From  the 
vestibule  she  shook  a  mournful  head  in  a  warning. 
"  Someone  is  calling,"  she  whispered.  *'  It's  Miss 
Crosby." 

Like  two  combatants  who  have  fought  a  round, 
the  Balcomes  parted,  retiring  to  opposite  corners  of 
the  room.  Dora,  having  satisfied  herself  that  quiet 
reigned,  went  out. 

Hattie  stifled  a  yawn.  *'  What  is  Miss  Crosby 
going  to  sing.  Sue  ?  "  she  asked  indifferently. 

"  '  O  Perfect  Love.^  " 

Balcome  wheeled  with  a  resounding  flop  of  the 
hat.    "  O  Perfect  What?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Love,  Mr.  Balcome,— L-O-V-E." 

"  Ha-a-a !  "  cried  Balcome.  "  I  haven't  heard 
that  word  in  years !  " 

Mrs.  Balcome,  stung  again  to  action,  swept  for- 
ward to  a  renewed  attack.     "  He  hasn't  heard  the 


74  Apron-Strings 

word  in  years !  "  she  scolded.  And  Balcome,  scold- 
ing in  concert  with  her,  "  I  don't  think  I'd  recognize 
it  if  I  saw  it." — "  Through  whose  fault,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  " — her  voice  topped  her  husband's. 

"  Please !  "  A  changed  Sue  was  speaking  now, 
not  playfully  or  facetiously,  or  even  patiently:  her 
face  was  grave,  her  eyes  were  angry.  "  Mrs. 
Balcome,  kindly  take  your  place  in  the  Close,  to 
the  left  of  the  big  door.  Mr.  Balcome,  you  will 
follow  the  choir."  She  waved  them  out,  and  they 
went,  both  unaccountably  meek.  Those  who  knew 
Sue  Milo  seldom  saw  this  phase  of  her  personality. 
Sue,  the  yielding,  the  loving,  the  childlike,  could, 
on  occasions,  shed  all  her  softer  qualities  and  be- 
come, of  a  sudden,  justly  vengeful,  full  of  wrath, 
and  unbending.  Even  her  mother  had,  at  rare  inter- 
vals, seen  this  phenomenon,  and  felt  respect  for  it. 

Just  now,  having  opened  the  passage  door  for  the 
choir,  Mrs.  Milo  had  scented  something  wrong, 
and  was  cautioning  the  boys  in  a  whisper.  They 
came  by  twos  across  the  room,  curving  their  line 
a  little  to  pass  near  to  Sue,  and  looking  toward 
her  with  troubled  eyes.  This  indeed  was  a  different 
Sue,  in  that  strange  dress,  standing  so  tensely,  with 
averted  face. 


Apron-Strings  75 

When  the  last  white  gown  was  gone,  Hattie 
laid  her  hand  on  Sue's  arm.  "  It's  all  right,"  she 
said  gently.    "  Don't  you  care." 

Sue  did  not  speak  or  move. 

*'  Dear  Sue,"  pleaded  the  girl. 

Sue  turned.  In  her  look  was  pity  for  all  that 
Hattie  had  borne  of  bitterness  and  wrangling.  And 
as  a  mother  gathers  a  stricken  child  to  her  breast, 
so  she  drew  the  other  to  her.  "  Oh,  Hattie ! "  she 
murmured  huskily.  *'  Go — go  far.  Put  it  all  be- 
hind you  forever !  From  now  on,  Hattie,  they  can't 
hurt  you  any  more — can't  torture  you  any  longer. 
From  now  on,  happiness,  Hattie,  happiness !  "  She 
dropped  her  head  to  Hattie's  shoulder. 

"  There !  There !  "  soothed  the  younger  woman, 
tenderly.  Someone  was  entering — a  girl  with  a 
music-roll  under  an  arm.  Nodding  to  the  new- 
comer, she  covered  the  situation  by  ostentatiously 
tidying  Sue's  hair. 


CHAPTER  III 

"  Dear  Miss  Crosby,  rm  so  glad  to  see  you 
again ! " 

Mrs.  Milo  came  hurrying  across  the  drawing- 
room  to  greet  the  soloist. 

Miss  Crosby  shook  hands  heartily.  She  was 
smartly  dressed  in  a  wine-colored  velveteen,  the 
over-short  skirt  of  which  barely  reached  to  the  tops 
of  her  freshly  whitened  spats.  Her  wide  hat  was 
tipped  to  a  rakish  angle.  She  was  young  (twenty- 
eight  or  thirty  at  most,  but  she  looked  less)  and 
distinctly  pretty.  Her  features  were  regular,  her 
face  oval,  if  too  thin — with  the  thinness  of  one  who 
is  underfed.  And  this  appearance  of  being  poorly 
nourished  showed  in  her  skin,  which  was  pallid, 
except  where  she  had  touched  it  on  cheeks  and  chin 
with  rouge.  A  neck  a  trifle  too  long  and  too 
lean  was  accentuated  by  a  wide  boyish  collar  of 
some  starched  material.  But  her  eyes  were  fine — 
not  large,  but  dark  and  lustrous  under  their  black 
brows  and  heavy  lashes.  Worn  in  waves  that  tes- 
tified to  the  use  of  the  curling-iron,  her  yellow  hair 

76 


Apron-Strings  77 

was  in  striking  contrast  to  them.  But  this  bright 
tint  was  plainly  the  result  of  bleaching.  And  both 
hair  and  rouge  served  to  emphasize  lines  in  her 
face  that  had  not  been  made  by  time — lines  of  want, 
and  struggle,  and  suffering;  lines  of  experience. 
These  showed  mostly  about  her  mouth,  a  thin  mouth 
made  more  pronounced  by  the  cautious  use  of  the 
lip-stick. 

"  My  dear,*'  beamed  Mrs.  Milo,  "  are  you  singing 
away  as  hard  as  ever?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  great  many  weddings,"  declared 
the  other,  with  a  note  that  was  somewhat  bragging. 

Mrs.  Milo  looked  down  at  the  long,  slender,  un- 
gloved hand  still  held  in  one  of  hers.  ''  Ah,"  she 
went  on,  playfully  teasing,  "but  I  see  you're  not 
always  going  to  sing  at  other  girls'  weddings." 

Miss  Crosby  pulled  her  hand  free,  and  thrust 
it  behind  her  among  the  folds  of  her  skirt.    "  Well, 

— I — I '»     She  gave  a  sudden  frightened  look 

around,  as  if  seeking  some  way  of  escape. 

Sue  was  quick  to  her  rescue.  "  Don't  you  want 
to  wait  with  the  choir?  "  she  asked,  waving  a  hand. 
"—You,  too,  Hattie." 

Mrs.  Milo  seemed  not  to  notice  the  singer's  con- 
fusion.    And   when   the   latter   disappeared   with 


yS  Apron-Strings 

Hattie,  she  appealed  to  Sue,  beaming  with  excite- 
ment. "  Did  you  notice  ?  "  she  asked.  *'  A  soli- 
taire !    She's  engaged  to  be  married !  " 

"  Married !  "  echoed  Sue,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh,  yes.  You're  thinking  of  the  Balcomes. 
Well,  now  you  see  why  I've  never  felt  too  badly 
about  your  not  taking  the  step." 

"  You  mean  that  most  marriages ?  " 

"It's  a  lottery — a  lottery."     Mrs.  Milo  sighed. 

"  But  your  marriage — yours  and  father's " 

"  My  marriage  was  a  great  exception — a  very 
great  exception." 

"  And  there's  Hattie  and  Wallace,"  went  on  Sue. 
"  Oh,  it  would  be  too  terrible " 

"  There  are  few  men  as  good  as  my  son,"  said 
Mrs.  Milo,  proudly ;  *' — you  darling  boy !  "  For 
Wallace  had  entered  the  room. 

He  came  to  them  quickly.  His  pale  face  was 
unwontedly  anxious. 

**  Is  anything  wrong?  "  questioned  Sue. 

"  No,"  he  declared.  But  his  whole  manner  belied 
his  words.  "  Only — only  there'll  be  a  change  to- 
morrow— an  outside  minister." 

"  Whatf "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Milo.  And  to  Sue, 
"Didn't  I  tell  you!" 


Apron-Strings  79 

"  But  if  Mr.  Farvel  doesn't  wish  to  officiate,"  she 
argued. 

Her  brother  caught  at  the  suggestion.  "  Ex- 
actly," he  said.     *'  He  doesn't  wish." 

**  What's  the  matter  with  him?  "  demanded  Mrs. 
Milo,  harshly. 

"  He  has  a  reason,"  explained  Wallace,  in  a  tone 
that  was  meant  to  cut  off  further  inquiry. 

"A  reason?  Indeed!  And  what  is  it?  Isn't 
dear  Hattie  to  be  consulted  ?  " 

Wallace  put  out  his  hands  imploringly.  "  Hattie 
won't  care,"  he  argued.  "And,  oh,  mother,  let's 
not  worry  her  about  it !  " 

Mrs.  Milo  smiled  wisely.  "  I've  always  said," 
she  reminded,  turning  to  Sue,  "  that  there's  some- 
thing   about    Mr.    Farvel    that — well "      She 

shrugged. 

Wallace's  hands  were  opening  and  shutting  al- 
most convulsively.  "  Mother,"  he  begged,  "  can  I 
see  Sue  alone  ?  " 

Mrs.  Milo's  eyes  softened  with  understanding. 
"  My  baby,  of  course."  She  kissed  him  fondly  and 
hurried  out  to  join  Mrs.  Balcome.  His  request  was 
a  familiar  one.  He  called  upon  his  sister  not  in- 
frequently for  financial  help,  and  to  his  mother  it 


8o  Apron-Strings 

was  a  point  greatly  in  his  favor  that  he  shrank 
from  asking  for  money  in  the  presence  of  any  third 
person. 

His  mother  gone,  Wallace  turned  to  Sue.  She 
had  the  same  thought  concerning  the  nature  of 
what  was  troubling  him;  for  he  looked  harassed 
— worn  and  pathetically  helpless.  He  was  more 
stooped  than  usual.  The  sight  of  him  touched  Sue's 
heart. 

"Well,  old  brother,"  she  said  tenderly,  putting 
a  hand  on  his  arm.  "  Is  the  bridegroom  short  of 
cash?  Now  that  would  never  do.  And  you  know 
I'm  always  ready " 

"  Not  that,"  he  answered;  " — not  this  time.  I*m 
all  right.    It's— Alan." 

"He's  not  happy!" 

"  No."  Wallace  glanced  away.  "  But  it's— it's 
an  old  story." 

"Can  I  help  him?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Nobody  can  do  anything. 
We'll  just  change  ministers." 

She  struggled  against  the  next  question.  "  It's 
about  a — a  girl?" 

As  if  startled,  he  stared  at  her.  "  What  makes 
you  say  that?" 


Apron-Strings  8i 

''  Well,  I— I  don't  know."  She  laughed  a  little, 
embarrassed.    "  But  most  men  at  his  age " 

"  Well,  it  is  about  a  girl,"  he  admitted.  "  She 
disappeared — oh,  nine  or  ten  years  ago." 

"  I— see." 

"  But  don't  say  anything  to  Hattie  about  it.  She 
likes  Farvel.  And — and  she  isn't  any  too  enthusi- 
astic about  marrying  me." 

A  smile  came  back  into  Sue's  gray  eyes.  "  My 
dear  brother !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  blind." 

Sue  addressed  the  room.  "Our  young  mining- 
engineer,"  she  observed  with  mock  gravity,  " '  he 
is  jealousy'." 

Wallace  was  trembling.  "  I  love  her,"  he  said 
half -brokenly;  "  I  love  her  better  than  anything  else 
in  the  world!  But — but  did  you  see  her  look  at 
him?  when  she  had  her  wedding-dress  on,  and  he 
and  I  came  in  ?  " 

"  Wallace !  " — ^pity  and  reproval  mingled  in  Sue's 
tone.  Again  she  laid  a  hand  on  his  sleeve.  "  Oh, 
don't  let  doubt  or — or  anything  enter  your  heart 
now — at  this  wonderful  hour  of  your  life — oh, 
Wallace,  when  you're  just  beginning  all  your  years 
with  her!    Your  marriage  must  be  happy!    Mar- 


82  Apron- Strings 

riages  can  be  happy — I  know  it!  They're  not  all 
like  her  mother's.  But  don't  start  wrong!  Oh, 
don't  start  wrong ! "  There  were  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

Farvel  came  in  from  the  Church.  He  was  him- 
self again,  and  slammed  the  door  quite  cheerily. 

Wallace  turned  almost  as  if  to  intercept  him. 
"  I've  fixed  everything,  old  man,"  he  said  quickly. 
"  It's  all  right." 

"  But  I  can  officiate  as  well  as  not,"  urged  Farvel, 
passing  the  younger  man  by  and  coming  to  Sue.  *'  I 
don't  want  you  to  think  I'm  notional." 

"  She  won't,"  declared  Wallace,  before  Sue  could 
speak.    "  I've  explained." 

"Ah."  Farvel  nodded,  satisfied.  "You — you 
know,  then.  Well,  I've  always  wanted  you  to 
know." 

She  tried  to  smile  back  at  him,  to  find  an  answer. 

Her  brother  was  urging  Farvel  to  go.  "You'll 
find  someone  to  marry  us,  won't  you?  "  he  begged. 
"Right  away,  Alan?" 

"Oh,  I  understand,"  said  Farvel.  "I'd  be  a 
damper,  wouldn't  I?" 

"Oh,  no!    Not  that!" 

Farvel  laid  a  hand  on  Wallace's  shoulder.    "  He 


Apron-Strings  83 

feels  as  bad  about  it  as  I  do,  dear  old  fellow ! "  he 
said. 

The  other  moved  away  a  step,  and  as  if  to  take 
Farvel  with  him.  "Yes,  Alan.  Yes.  But  don't 
talk  about  it  today.    Not  today." 

Farvel  crossed  to  the  sofa  and  sat  down.  **  I 
know,"  he  admitted.  "  But  today — this  wedding — 
I  don't — I  can't  seem  to  get  her  out  of  my 
mind."  Then  as  if  moved  by  a  poignant  thought, 
he  bent  his  head  and  covered  his  face  with  both 
hands. 

Sue  was  beside  him  at  once.  And  dropped  to  a 
knee.  "  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  help  you,"  she  said 
comfortingly. 

Farvel  did  not  look  up.  He  began  to  speak  in 
a  muffled  voice.  "What  did  I  do  to  deserve  it?" 
he  asked  brokenly.  "That's  what  I  ask  myself. 
What  did  I  do?" 

"Nothing!"  she  answered.  "Nothing!  Oh, 
don't  blame  yourself."  Her  hand  went  up  to  touch 
one  of  his. 

He  uncovered  his  face  and  looked  at  her.  He 
seemed  to  have  aged  all  at  once.  "Oh,  forgive 
me,"  he  pleaded.  "I  don't  want  to  worry 
you." 


84  Apron-Strings 

A  gasping  cry  came  from  a  door  across  the  room. 
Mrs.  Milo  had  entered,  and  was  standing  staring 
at  the  two  in  amazement  and  anger.  "  Susan 
Milo !  "  she  cried. 

"  Oh ! "  Without  rising,  Sue  began  to  pick  up 
bits  of  smilax  dropped  from  the  florist's  basket. 
"  Yes,  mother  ?  ''  she  replied  inquiringly. 

Mrs.  Milo  hurried  forward.  "What  are  you 
doing  on  your  knees  ?  " 

"  Mother  dear,"  returned  Sue,  "  did  you  ever 
see  anything  like  smilax  to  get  all  over  the  place?  " 
Her  voice  trembled  like  the  voice  of  a  child  caught 
in  wrongdoing.  ."  One  little  bit  here — one  little 
bit  there " 

"  Get  up,"  ordered  her  mother,  curtly.  And  as 
Sue  rose,  "What's  the  matter  with  you,  Mr. 
Farvel  ?    Are  you  sick  ?  " 

"  Mother !  " — it  was  a  low  appeal. 

Farvel  rose,  a  trifle  wearily.  "  No,"  he  an- 
swered, meeting  the  angry  look  of  the  elder  woman 
calmly.    "  I  am  not  sick." 

Mrs.  Milo  turned  to  vent  her  wrath  upon  Sue. 
"  I  declare  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  you," 
she  scolded.  "  Down  on  the  carpet,  making  an 
exhibition  of  yourself !  " 


Apron-Strings  85 

Sue's  look  beseeched  Farvel.  "  Don't  stay  for 
rehearsal,"  she  said.     "  Find  another  clergyman." 

"  That's  best,"  he  answered ;  '*  yes." 

Mrs.  Milo  broke  in  upon  them,  not  able  to  control 
herself.  "Where's  your  dignity?"  she  demanded 
of  Sue.  "  Acting  like  a  romantic  schoolgirl — a 
great,  overgrown  woman." 

Farvel  bowed  to  Sue  with  formality,  ignoring  her 
mother.  "  You're  very  kind,"  he  said.  "  I'm  grate- 
ful." With  Wallace  following,  he  went  out  by  the 
door  leading  to  the  Church.  ^ 

Instantly  Mrs.  Milo  grew  more  calm.  She  seated 
herself  with  something  of  .a  judicial  air.  "  Now, 
what's  this  all  about?"  she  asked.  "You  know 
that  I  don't  like  a  mystery." 

Sue  came  to  stand  before  her  mother.  And  again 
her  attitude  was  not  that  of  one  woman  talking  to 
another,  but  that  of  a  child,  anxious  to  excuse  a 
fault.  "  Well,-— well,"  she  began  haltingly,  "  some- 
one he  cared  for — disappeared." 

"  Cared  for,"  repeated  Mrs.  Milo,  instant  relief 
showing  in  her  tone.  "Ah,  indeed!  A  girl,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"  Y-y-yes." 

Still  more  pleased,  her  mother  leaned  back,  smil- 


86  Apron-Strings 

ing.  "And  she  disappeared,  did  she?  Well,  I 
don't  wonder  he's  so  secret  about  it.  Ha!  ha!" — 
that  well-bred,  rippling  laugh. 

Sue  stared  down  at  her.     "  You  mean *'  she 

asked;  "you  mean " 

Mrs.  Milo  lifted  her  eyebrows.  "  My  daughter," 
she  answered,  "  don't  you  know  that  there's  only 
one  reason  why  a  girl  drops  out  of  sight  ?  " 

In  amazement  Sue  fell  back  a  step.  "  Mother !  " 
she  cried.  Then  turned  abruptly,  and  went  out  into 
the  Close. 

Mrs.  Milo  stood  up,  on  her  face  conscious  guilt 
for  her  suspicion  and  her  lack  of  charity.  But  she 
was  appalled — almost  stunned.  Never  in  all  her 
life  before  had  her  daughter  left  her  in  such  a  way. 
"  I  declare !  "  burst  forth  the  elder  woman.  "  I 
declare !  "  Then  following  Sue  a  few  steps,  and 
calling  after  her  through  the  open  door,  "  Well, 
what  fills  that  basket  out  there?  And  what  fills 
our  Orphanage?"  And  more  weakly,  but  still  in 
an  effort  to  justify  herself,  "  What — what  other 
reason  can  you  suggest,  Fd  like  to  know !  And — 
and  it's  just  plain,  common  sense !  "  She  came  back 
to  stand  alone,  staring  before  her.  Then  she  sank 
to  a  chair. 


Apron-Strings  87 

Wallace  returned.  "Where's  Sue,  mother?"  he 
asked. 

*' What?— Oh,  it's  you,  darling?  She— she 
stepped  out." 

"Out?" 

"  Into  the  Close." 

"  Oh."    He  hurried  across  the  room. 

Mrs.  Milo  fluttered  to  her  feet.  "  I — I  can't  have 
that  choir  in  the  library  any  longer,"  she  declared 
decisively.    And  left  the  room. 

Sue  entered  in  answer  to  her  brother's  call,  and 
came  straight  to  him.  She  had  forgotten  her  anger 
by  now;  her  look  was  anxious. 

"  Sue,  let's  go  ahead  with  the  rehearsal,"  he 
begged. 

"Wallace," — she  gripped  both  of  his  wrists,  as 
if  she  were  determined  to  hold  him  until  she  had 
the  answers  she  sought — "you  knew  her — that 
girl?" 

He  averted  his  eyes.    "  Why,  yes." 

She  spoke  very  low.    "  Was  she — sweet?  " 

"Yes;  sweet," — with  a  note  of  impatience. 

"Light— or  dark?" 

"  Rather  dark."    Again  he  showed  irritation. 

"  Was  she — was  she  pretty  ? " 


88  Apron-Strings 

"  She  was  beautiful.'* 

Her  hands  fell.  She  turned  away.  "  And  she 
dropped  right  out  of  his  life,"  she  said,  as  if  to 
herself.  Then  coming  about  suddenly,  "  Why, 
Wallace  ?    You  don't  know  ?  " 

"  I — do — not — know."  He  dragged  at  his  hair 
with  a  nervous  hand. 

She  lowered  her  voice  again.  "  Wallace, — she — 
she  didn't  have  to  go  ?  " 

Her  brother  made  a  gesture  of  angry  impatience. 
"  Oh,  Fm  disappointed  in  you !  "  he  cried.  "  I 
thought  you  were  different  from  other  women.  But 
you're  just  as  quick  to  think  wrong !  " 

She  brought  her  hands  together;  and  a  look,  wist- 
ful and  appealing,  gave  to  her  face  that  curiously 
childlike  expression.  "  Well,  influence  of  the 
basket,"  she  admitted  ruefully,  and  hung  her  head. 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  sulkily,  and 
turned  his  back. 

Mrs.  Balcome  came  puffing  in.  "  Say,  you  know 
dear  Babette  is  getting  very  tired,"  she  announced 
pettishly.    "  And  I  wish " 

As  if  in  answer  to  her  complaining,  there  came 
a  burst  of  song.  The  library  door  swung  wide. 
And  forward,  with  serene  and  uplifted  faces,  came 


Apron-Strings  89 

the  choir,  singing  the  wedding-march.  Each  cotta 
swayed  in  time. 

Balcome  and  Hattie  followed  the  procession,  the 
former  scolding.  "  Well,  are  we  rehearsing  at  last, 
or  what  are  we  doing  ?  "  he  demanded  as  he  passed 
Sue. 

Mrs.  Balcome  shook  with  laughter.  "  Fancy  any- 
body being  such  a  dolt  as  to  rehearse  without  a 
minister !  "  she  scoffed. 

The  choir  filed  out,  and  their  song  came  floating 
back  from  the  Close.  Miss  Crosby  entered  and 
went  to  Sue.  "  Miss  Milo,  don't  I  sing  before  the 
ceremony  ?  "  she  asked. 

Sue  roused  herself  with  a  shake  of  the  head  and 
a  helpless  laiigh.  "  Well,  you  see  how  much  /  know 
about  weddings,"  she  answered.  "  Now,  I'm  going 
to  introduce  the  bridegroom."  Wallace  was  beside 
Hattie,  leaning  over  her  with  anxious  devotion,  and 
whispering.  Sue  pulled  at  his  sleeve.  "  Wallace," 
she  said,  "  you  haven't  met  Miss  Crosby."  And  to 
Miss  Crosby  as  he  turned,  a  little  annoyed  at  being 
interrupted,  "  This  is  the  lucky  man." 

Miss  Crosby's  expression  was  one  of  polite  inter- 
est. Wallace,  trying  to  smile,  bowed.  Then  their 
eyes  met 


90  Apron-Strings 

"  A-a-a-aw !  "  It  was  a  strange,  strangling  cry — 
like  the  terrified  cry  of  some  dumb  thing,  suddenly 
cornered.  Miss  Crosby's  mouth  opened  wide,  her 
eyes  bulged.  Upon  her  dead  white  face  in  startling 
contrast  stood  out  the  three  spots  of  rouge. 

"  Laura ! "  gasped  Wallace. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  thus,  facing  each  other. 
Then  with  a  rush  the  girl  went,  her  arms  thrown 
out  as  if  to  fend  off  any  who  might  seek  to  detain 
her.  She  pulled  the  door  to  the  vestibule  against 
herself  as  if  she  were  half -blinded,  stumbled  around 
it,  slammed  it  shut  behind  her,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  IV 

With  Clare  Crosby's  sudden  departure,  the 
group  in  the  Rectory  drawing-room  stood  in  com- 
plete silence  for  a  moment,  astonished  and  staring. 
Wallace,  with  his  hands  to  his  face,  was  like  a 
man  half-stunned. 

Outside  in  the  Close,  the  choir,  having  come  to 
a  halt,  was  rendering  the  Wedding  March  with 
great  gusto — proof  positive  that  the  choirmaster, 
at  least,  made  an  audience  for  the  twelve.  Above 
the  chorus  of  young  voices  pealed  that  one 
most  perfect — the  bird-sweet  voice  of  Ikey 
Einstein,  devoid  of  its  accent  by  some  queer 
miracle  of  song.  It  dipped  and  soared  with  the 
melody,  as  sure  and  strong  and  true  as  a 
bugle. 

"  Well !  "  It  was  Mrs.  Milo  who  spoke  first- 
Mrs.  Milo,  who  could  put  so  much  meaning  into  a 
single  word.  Now  she  expressed  disapproval  and 
amazement;  more:  that  one  exclamatory  syllable, 
as  successfully  as  if  it  had  been  an  extended  utter- 
ance, not  only  hinted,  but  openly  avowed  her  belief 

91 


92  Apron-Strings 

in  the  moral  turpitude  of  the  young  woman  who 
had  just  reeled  so  blindly  through  the  door. 

"  Wallace !  "    Sue  went  to  her  brother. 

f*  Now,  what's  the  row ! "  demanded  Balcome, 
irritably,  looking  around  for  his  hat,  which  Hattie 
had  taken  from  him  in  order  to  make  him  more 
presentable  for  the  rehearsal. 

"  I  suppose  Fve  done  something,'*  ventured  Mrs. 
Balcome,  plaintively. 

Mrs.  Milo  hastened  to  the  door  leading  to  the 
lawn,  spied  the  choirmaster,  waved  a  wigwag  at 
him  with  her  handkerchief,  and  shut  the  door.  The 
singing  stopped. 

She  came  fluttering  back.  Always,  when  some- 
thing unforeseen  and  unpleasant  happened,  it  was 
Mrs.  Milo's  habit  to  accept  the  occurrence  as  aimed 
purposely  at  her  and  her  happiness.  So  now  her 
attitude  was  one  of  patient  forbearance.  "  I  told 
you,  Hattie,"  she  reminded;  " — bad  luck  if  Wallace 
saw  you  in  your  wedding-dress  today." 

Wallace  had  slipped  to  a  seat  on  the  sofa,  leaning 
his  head  on  a  hand,  and  shaking  like  a  man  with  a 
chill.  Now,  at  mention  of  Hattie's  name,  he  sprang 
up,  went  to  her,  getting  between  her  and  his  mother, 
and  putting  an  arm  about  the  girl  as  if  to  protect 


Apron-Strings  93 

her,  "  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  Hattie,"  he  de- 
clared, his  eyes  blazing.  "  Nothing,  I  tell  you ! 
And  you're  trying  to  make  trouble !  " 

"  If  you  please/'  interrupted  Sue,  quietly, 
"  you're   speaking  to   your  mother." 

But  Mrs.  Milo  was  amply  able  to  take  care  of 
herself — by  the  usual  method  of  putting  any 
opponent  instantly  on  the  defensive.  "  So  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Hattie?  "  she  returned.  "  Well, 
perhaps  it  has  something  to  do  with  you." 

Wallace's  tall  figure  stiffened,  as  if  from  an 
electric  shock.  His  lips  drew  back  from  his 
clenched  teeth  in  something  that  was  like  a 
grin. 

Hattie  took  a  long  step,  freeing  herself  from  his 
arm. 

"  Or  perhaps  " — Mrs.  Milo's  glance  had  traveled 
to  Sue — "  perhaps  it  has  something  to  do  with  Mr. 
Farvel." 

"  I  won't  discuss  Alan  behind  his  back,"  retorted 
Wallace,  hotly. 

"  A-a-a-ah !  " — this  with  a  gratified  nod.  She  felt 
that  she  had  forced  the  knowledge  she  wanted, 
namely  that  the  going  of  the  soloist  had  something 
to  do  with  the  clergyman.     "  Well,"— smiling— "  I 


94  Apron-Strings 

think  I  have  an  idea."  With  a  beckon  to  Mrs. 
Balcome,  she  made  toward  the  hall. 

Mrs.  Balcome  came  rolling  after,  the  dog  worn 
high  against  the  crepe  cascade.  "  Perhaps  it's  just 
as  well  that  Miss  Crosby  went,"  she  observed  from 
the  door.  **  Of  course,  we  could  screen  her  with 
palms.  But  I  think  she'd  take  away  from  Hattie 
tomorrow.    She's  much  too  pretty — much." 

"  Puh!  "  snorted  Balcome.  He  went  to  slam  the 
door  after  her. 

Now,  Hattie  turned  upon  Wallace  with  sudden 
intensity.  "  What  has  Miss  Crosby  to  do  with  Mr. 
Farvel?"  she  demanded. 

'*  But  does  it  make  any  difference,  Hattie  ? " 
put  in  Sue,  quickly;  " — as  long  as  it  isn't  your 
Wallace.  It  doesn't,  of  course.  Mr.  Farvel  has 
his  own  personal  affairs,  and  they're  no  business 
of  ours — none  whatever.  Are  they?  No.  And 
Miss  Crosby  is  charming,  and  pretty,  and — and 
sweet."  Now  she  in  turn  faced  round  upon  her 
brother.  "  But — but  what  has  Miss  Crosby  to  do 
with  Mr.  Farvel?" 

"  Does  it  make  any  difference  to  you  ? "  coun- 
tered Hattie. 

"  Of  course  not,  Hattie ! — Foolish  question  nine 


Apron-Strings  95 

million  and  nine! — Wallace,  she's — she*s  not — the 
girl?    You  know.'* 

He  reddened  angrily.  "  She  is  not !  "  he  ex- 
ploded. But  as  Sue,  showing  plain  distrust  in 
his  answer,  turned  toward  the  passage  as  if  to  go 
in  search  of  Farvel,  he  caught  at  her  arm  almost 
fiercely — and  fearfully.  "  Oh,  no !  Not  yet !  "  he 
begged.    "  Please,  Sue !  " 

"  I  believe  he  ought  to  know,'*  she  declared. 

"  Do  you  want  him  to  give  up  this  Church  ?  " 
he  cried.  And  as  she  came  back  slowly,  "  Oh,  trust 
me,  Sue!  It's  something  I  can't  tell  you.  But 
I'm  right  about  it.— Sh !  "  For  Mrs.  Milo  had  re- 
entered, on  her  countenance  unmistakable  signs  of 
triumphant  pleasure. 

"  Ah-ha ! "  exclaimed  that  lady,  as  she  hurried 
forward.  "  I  thought  there  was  something  queer 
about  that  Crosby  girl  1 " 

"  Why,  mother  dear!  "  expostulated  Sue.  "  I've 
heard  you  say  she  was  such  a  lady — so  refined " 

"  Please  don't  contradict  me !  '* 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

Mrs.  Milo  glanced  from  one  to  another  of  the 
little  group,  saving  her  news,  preparing  for  a  good 
effect.    "  Mrs.  Balcome  and  I  have  just  solved  the 


96  Apron-Strings 

Farvel  mystery,"  she  announced.  "  We  looked  at 
that  photograph  in  the  bureau  again,  and — it's  Miss 
Crosby's  picture." 

"Haw-haw!"  roared  Balcome,  with  a  scornful 
flop  of  the  hat. 

Sue  went  close  to  her  brother.  "  Then  she  is  the 
girl  who  disappeared,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 

"  Well,— yes." 

"And  she'll  go  again!  She'll  be  lost!"  She 
started  toward  the  hall. 

"  Susan !  "  cried  her  mother,  peremptorily.  And 
as  Sue  halted,  "  We  want  nothing  to  do  with  that 
girl.    Come  back." 

"  What  harm  could  come  of  my  going?  "  argued 
Sue. 

"  That  is  not  the  question." 

"  Mother,  I  don't  like  to  oppose  you,  but  in  this 
case " 

"  I  shall  not  allow  it,"  said  her  mother,  decisively. 

"  Then  I  must  go  against  your  wishes."  Sue 
opened  the  door. 

"I  forbid  it,  I  tell  you!"  That  note  of  shrill- 
ness now  appeared  in  Mrs.  Milo's  voice. 

"  Oh,  mother ! "  Sue  came  back  a  little  way. 
"  Don't  treat  me  like  a  child !  " 


Apron-Strings  97 

Now  Mrs.  Milo  became  all  gentleness  once  more. 
She  put  a  hand  on  Sue's  arm.  "  Your  mother  is 
the  best  judge  of  your  actions,"  she  reminded. 
"  And  she  wants  you  to  stay." 

Sue  backed.  "No;  I'm  sorry,"  she  answered. 
"  In  all  my  life  I  can't  remember  disobeying 
you  once.  But  today  I  must."  Again  she 
started. 

"  My  daughter ! "  Mrs.  Milo's  voice  broke  pa- 
thetically. "  You — you  mean  you  won't  respect  my 
wishes  ?  " 

Checked  by  that  sign  of  tears  so  near,  again  Sue 
halted,  but  without  turning.  "  I  want  to  help  her," 
she  urged,  a  little  doggedly. 

"  But  your  mother,"  went  on  Mrs.  Milo,  " — my 
feelings — my  love — are  you  going  to  trample  them 
under  foot  ?  " 

"Oh,  not  that!" 

Mrs.  Milo  fell  to  weeping.  "  Oh,  what  do  you 
care  for  my  peace  of  mind! "  she  mourned.  "  For 
my  heartache !  " 

It  brought  Sue  to  her  mother's  side.  "Why! 
Why !  "  She  put  an  arm  about  the  elder  woman 
tenderly. 

Mrs.   Milo  dropped  to  a  chair.    "This  is  the 


98  Apron-Strings 

child  I  bore!*'  she  sobbed.  "I've  devoted  my 
whole  life  to  her!     And  now — oh,  if  your  dear 

father  knew!    If  he  could  only  see "     Words 

failed  her.  She  buried  her  face  in  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

Sue  knelt  at  her  side.  "  Oh,  mother !  Mother !  " 
she  comforted.     "  Hush,  dear !     Hush !  " 

"  Fm  going  to  be  ill,"  wept  Mrs.  Milo.  "  I  know 
I  am !  My  nerves  can't  stand  it !  But  it's  just  as 
well " — mournfully.  "  I'm  in  your  way.  I  can 
see  that.  And  it's  t-t-t-time  that  I  died!"  She 
shook  convulsively. 

Commands,  arguments,  appeals,  tears — ^how  often 
Mrs.  Milo  and  her  daughter  went  through  the 
several  steps  of  just  such  a  scene  as  this.  Exactly 
that  often.  Sue  capitulated,  as  she  capitulated  now, 
with  eyes  brimming. 

"  Ah,  don't  say  that,  mother,"  she  pleaded. 
"  You'll  break  my  heart !  You're  my  whole  life — 
with  Wallace  away,  why  I've  got  nobody  else  in 
the  whole  world !  "  And  looking  up,  "  Wallace, 
you  go." 

Instantly  Mrs.  Milo's  weeping  quieted. 

"Today?"  asked  her  brother,  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  now !    Right  away !  "    Sue  got  to  her  feet. 


Apron-Strings  99 

"Oh,  Sue,  there's  no  rush!" 

Mrs.  Milo,  suddenly  dry-eyed,  came  to  her  son's 
rescue.  "  And  why  should  Wallace  go  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Mr.  Farvel  is  the  one." 

"  No !  No !  "  he  cried,  scowling  at  her.  "  I  won't 
have  Alan  worried.'* 

"  Mm ! "  commented  Mrs.  Milo,  ruffled  at  having 
her  good  offices  so  little  appreciated.  "  You're  very 
considerate." 

"  I  understand  the  matter  better  than  anyone 
else,"  he  explained,  trying  to  speak  more  politely. 
"  Alan  can't  even  bear  to  talk  about  it.  So — 
I'll  go." 

Sue  turned  to  Balcome.  "And  you  go  with 
him,"  she  suggested. 

"  But  why  ?  " — again  it  was  a  nervous,  frightened 
protest. 

Sue  nodded  toward  Hattie,  standing  so  sHm  and 
still  beside  her  father.  "  So  my  little  sister  will  feel 
all  right  about  it,"  she  explained.  "  Because  noth- 
ing, Wallace,  must  worry  her.  It's  her  happiness 
we  want  to  think  of,  isn't  it? — dear  Hattie's." 

"Oh,  yes!     Yes!" 

"The  address— I'll  write  it  down."  She  bent 
over  the  desk. 


loo  Apron-Strings 

Wallace  went  to  Hattie.  "  Good-by,"  he  said, 
tremulously.  "  I'll  be  right  back."  He  leaned  to 
kiss  her,  but  she  turned  her  face  away.  His  lips 
brushed  only  her  cheek. 

Sue  thrust  the  address  into  his  hand.  "  Here. 
And,  oh,  Wallace,  be  very  kind  to  her !  " 

"  Of  course.  Yes.  I'll  do  what  I  can."  But  he 
seemed  scarcely  to  know  what  he  was  saying.  He 
fingered  the  card  Sue  had  given  him,  and  watched 
Hattie. 

Urging  him  toward  the  vestibule,  Sue  glanced 
down  at  her  bridesmaid's  dress,  then  searchingly 
about  the  room — for  a  hat,  a  wrap.  "  And  bring 
them  together — won't  you?"  she  went  on,  taking 
Balcome's  arm.  At  the  door,  she  crowded  in  front 
of  him. 

"  Susan,"  challenged  her  mother. 

"  Yes,  mother," — coming  short,  with  a  whim- 
sically comical  look  that  acknowledged  discovery 
and  defeat. 

"  They  can  find  their  way  out.  Come 
back." 

Sue  came.  "  But  I  could  go  with  them,  and 
not  see  Miss  Crosby."  Once  more  that  note  of 
childlike  pleading.     "  I  could  just  wait  near  by." 


Apron-StringS' loi' 

"  Wait  here,  Susan. — Oh,  I  realize  that  you  could 
be  there  and  back  before  I'd  know  it." 

Sue  laughed.  "  Oh,  she's  a  smart  little  mother !  " 
she  said  fondly.     "  Yes,  she  is!  " 

"  She  knows  your  tricks,"  retorted  Mrs.  Milo, 
wisely.  "  You'd  even  trapse  out  in  that  get-up. — 
Please  don't  fidget  while  I'm  talking." 

Seeing  that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  get  away, 
Sue  sat  down  resignedly.  "  Well,  as  Ikey  says," 
she  observed,  *' '  sometimes  t'ings  go  awful  fine, 
und  sometimes  she  don't.'  " 

Now,  Farvel  came  breezing  in.  "  I've  found  a 
minister.  Miss  Milo,"  he  announced.  Then  realiz- 
ing that  something  untoward  had  happened,  "  Why, 
— Where's  Wallace  ?  " 

"  He  has  followed  Miss  Crosby,"  answered  Mrs. 
Milo,  speaking  the  name  with  exaggerated  dis- 
tinctness. 

"  Miss  Crosby?  "    Farvel  was  puzzled. 

"  Miss — Clare — Crosby." 

He  turned  to  Sue,  and  she  rose  and  came  to  him 
— smiling,  and  with  a  certain  confidential  air  that 
was  calculated  either  to  rescue  him  from  a  cate- 
chism or  to  result  in  her  own  banishment  from  the 
room.     "  Do  you  know  that  you  haven't  dictated 


102 Apron-Strings 

this  morning's  letters?"  she  asked.  And  touching 
him  on  the  arm,  "  Shan't  we  go  into  the  Hbrary 
now  ? " 

"  Susan,"  purred  Mrs.  Milo. 

"  Yes,  mother."  But  Sue,  halting  beside  Farvel, 
continued  to  talk  to  him  animatedly,  in  an  under- 
tone. 

"Will  you  kindly  see  that  Dora  understands 
about  dinner  preparations  ?  " 

"  Hattie,  do  you  mind  ringing?  " 

Mrs.  Milo  held  up  a  slender  hand  to  check 
Hattie.  "  Susan,"  she  went  on,  patiently,  "  do  you 
want  your  mother  to  do  the  trotting  after  the 
servants  ?  " 

"  No,  mother.    But  Mr.  Farvel's  letters " 

Now  that  quick,  mechanical  smile,  and  Mrs,  Milo 
tipped  her  head  to  one  side  as  she  regarded  the 
clergyman  in  pretty  concern.  "  Mr.  Farvel  is  in 
no  mood  for  dictation,"  she  declared  gently;  "and 
— I  am  quite  exhausted,  as  you  know."  But  as  Sue 
hurried  away,  not  lifting  her  eyes,  lest  she  betray 
how  glad  she  was  to  be  dismissed,  her  mother  rose 
— and  there  was  no  appearance  of  the  complained-of 
exhaustion.  Her  eyes  shone  with  eagerness.  They 
fastened  themselves  on  Farvel's  face.    "  That  Miss 


Apron-Strings  103 

Crosby/'  she  began;  "—she  came,  recognized  Wal- 
lace, gave  a  cry — and  ran." 

Farvel  listened  politely.  Mrs.  Milo  was  so  prone 
to  be  dramatic.  There  was  scarcely  a  day  that  some 
warning  of  Wolf!  Wolf!  did  not  ring  through 
the  Rectory.  "  Well,  what  seemed  to  be  the  mat- 
ter ? ''  he  asked. 

"  I  thought  you  might  know," — with  just  a  trace 
of  emphasis  on  the  You. 

"  I  don't,"  he  assured  her,  quietly. 

"  Then  why  not  go  yourself — and  get  the  facts?  " 

"  Wallace  didn't  ask  me." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  his  reply  that 
brought  the  blood  to  her  cheeks.  She  replied  to  it 
by  making  her  own  tone  a  little  chiding.  "  But  as 
my  boy's  oldest  friend,"  she  reminded. 

Farvel  laughed.  "  Friend  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  He's 
more  like  a  younger  brother  to  me.  But  that 
doesn't  warrant  my  intruding  on  him,  does  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Milo  lifted  her  eyebrows.  "  I  hope,"  she 
commented,  with  something  of  that  same  sorrowful 
intonation  which  characterized  the  speech  of  Dora, 
" — I  hope  there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  meet 
this  Crosby  girl." 

Farvel  stared  at  her.     "  I  ?  "  he  demanded,  too 


104  '•*"•  Apron-Strings 

astonished  by  her  daring  to  be  angry.  "  Why — 
why " 

At  this  juncture  the  Hbrary  door  opened  and 
Dora  entered,  to  set  the  room  to  rights  apparently, 
for  she  gave  a  critical  look  about,  arranged  the 
writing-desk,  and  put  a  chair  in  place. 

"Dora,"  said  Mrs.  Milo,  "you  saw  Miss 
Susan?" 

Dora  lifted  pale  eyes.  "  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered, 
"  but  only  a  fleeting  glimpse." 

"Glimpse?"  repeated  Mrs.  Milo,  startled. 

"  From  the  rear  portal  " — with  an  indefinite  wave 
of  the  hand — "  she  turned  that  way." 

"  Oh !  She  went !  To  that  Crosby  girl !  And  I 
forbade  her ! — Mr.  Farvel,  come !  " 

"  But  I'm  not  wanted,"  urged  the  clergyman. 

"  Why  do  you  hold  back  ?    Don't  /  want  you  ?  " 

Farvel  pondered  a  moment,  his  look  on  Hattie, 
standing  in  the  bay-window,  now,  alert  but  motion- 
less.   "  Well,  I'll  come,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Dora!"  cried  Mrs.  Milo,  as  she  fluttered  hall- 
ward;  "  my  bonnet!  " 

Dora  had  gone  by  the  same  door  through  which 
she  had  come.  Hattie  and  Farvel  were  alone.  She 
turned  and  came  to  stand  beside  him.     "Why  do 


Apron-Strings  105 

you  suppose "  she  commenced;  and  then,  more 

bluntly,  "  What  was  the  matter  with  Miss  Crosby?  '* 

Farvel  studied  her  face  for  a  moment,  his  own 
full  of  anxious  sympathy.  "  I  can't  imagine,"  he 
said,  finally;  *'but  whatever  it  is  you  may  be  sure 
of  one  thing — Wallace  isn't  to  blame." 

Hattie's  look  met  his.  *^  It's  queer,  isn't  it?  "  she 
said;  "but  that — well,  that  doesn't  seem  to  be 
troubling  me  at  all."  Then  for  no  reason  whatever, 
she  put  out  her  hand.  He  took  it,  instantly  touched. 
Her  eyes  were  glistening  with  tears.  She  turned 
and  went  out  into  the  Close. 

Farvel  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  after  her. 
Then  remembering  his  promise  to  Mrs.  Milo,  he 
hastened  in  the  direction  of  his  study. 

As  the  hall  door  shut  after  him,  the  library  door 
swung  wide,  and  Dora  came  bouncing  in,  waving 
an  arm  joyously.  "  Your  path  is  clear ! "  she 
announced. 

At  her  back  was  Sue,  looking  properly  guilty, 
and  scrambling  into  a  coat  that  would  hide  the 
bridesmaid's  dress.  **  Just  what  did  you  tell 
mother?"  she  inquired. 

"  I  said  you  went  that  way," — with  a  jerk  of  the 
head  that  set  the  tight  braids  to  bobbing. 


io6  Apron-Strings 

"  Oh,  what  did  you  tell  her  that  for ! "  mourned 
Sue.    "  It's  the  way  I  must  go !  " 

"  It  is  the  truth,"  said  Dora,  solemnly,  "  and,  oh, 
Miss  Susan," — chanting — "  *  a  lying  tongue  is  but 
for  a  moment/  " 

"  I  know,"  answered  Sue,  exasperated;  "  '  a  lying 
tongue  is  but  for  a  moment,'  and  *  deceitful  men 
shall  not  live  out  half  their  days,'  but,  Dora,  this 
is  a  desperate  case.  So  you  find  my  mother  and 
tell  her  that — that  I'm  probably  downstairs  in  the 
basement, — er — er — well,  I  might  be  setting  the 
mouse-trap."  And  giving  Dora  an  encouraging 
push  in  the  direction  of  the  hall.  Sue  disappeared 
on  swift  foot  into  the  vestibule. 


CHAPTER  V 

Miss  Mignon  St.  Clair  was  affectionately,  and 
familiarly,  known  as  Tottie.  About  thirty,  and 
thus  well  past  the  first  freshness  of  youth,  she  was 
one  of  that  great  host  of  women  who  inadvertently 
and  pathetically  increase  the  look  of  bodily  and 
nervous  wear  and  tear  by  the  exaggerated  use  of 
cosmetics — under  the  comforting  delusion  that  these 
have  just  the  opposite  effect.  With  her  applications 
of  liquid-white  and  liquid-red,  Tottie  invariably 
achieved  the  almost  grotesque  appearance  of  having 
dressed  in  the  dark. 

In  taking  as  it  were  a  final  stand  against  the 
passing  of  her  girlhood.  Miss  St.  Clair  had  gone 
further  than  most.  First,  in  very  desperation,  she 
had  colored  her  graying  mouse-tinted  hair  a  glow- 
ing red;  and  then,  as  a  last  resort,  had  heroically, 
but  with  mistaken  art,  bobbed  it. 

The  effect,  if  weird,  added  to  the  lady's  striking 
appearance.  With  glasses,  and  an  unbelted  Mother 
Hubbard  gown  made  out  of  antiqued  gold  cloth,  she 

107 


io8  Apron-Strings 

might  have  passed  for  a  habitue  of  the  pseudo- 
artistic  colony  that  made  its  headquarters  not  far 
away  from  her  domicile.  But  such  was  her  liking 
for  jewelry,  and  plenty  of  it,  and  for  gowns  not 
loose  but  clinging,  that,  invariably  equipped  with  an 
abundant  supply  of  toothsome  gum,  she  looked  less 
the  blue-stocking,  or  the  anarchistic  reformer,  than 
what  she  aimed  to  resemble — a  flaming-tressed 
actress  (preferably  of  the  vampire  type),  a  shining 
"  star.'' 

But  such  are  the  tricks  of  Fate,  that  Tottie,  out- 
wardly and  in  spirit  the  true  "  artiste,"  was — as 
a  plain  matter  of  fact — a  landlady,  who  kept 
"  roomers  "  at  so  much  per  week. 

Her  rooming-house  was  one  of  those  four-story- 
and-basement  brownstone-front  affairs  with  brown- 
stone  steps  (and  a  service-entrance  under  the  steps) 
that  New  York  put  up  by  the  thousands  several 
decades  ago,  and  considered  fashionable. 

The  house,  therefore,  was  like  every  other  house 
on  the  block.  But  to  the  observant  passerby,  one 
thing  identified  it.  The  basements  of  its  neighbors 
were  given  over  to  various  activities — commercial 
and  otherwise.  There  were  basements  that  were 
bakeries,  or  delicatessen   shops,   or  dusty  second- 


Apron-Strings  109 

hand-book  stores,  or  flower  stalls.  And  not  a  few 
were  used  still  for  their  primary  purpose — the 
housing,  more  or  less  comfortably,  of  humans. 
The  St.  Clair  house  was  distinguished  by  the  fact 
that  its  front  room  on  the  basement  level  (the 
servants'  living-room  of  better  days)  was  rented  for 
the  accommodation  of  a  "  hand  "  laundry. 

Often  Miss  St.  Clair  felt  called  upon  to  apologize 
for  that  laundry — at  least  to  explain  its  presence. 
"  Some  of  my  friends  say,  *  Oh,  my  dear,  a  laun- 
dry!' But  as  I  say,  *You  can't  put  high-class 
people  in  the  basement;  and  high-class  people  is 
the  only  people  I'll  have  around.  Furthermore,  I 
can't  leave  the  basement  empty.  And  ain't  cleany- 
ness  next  to  goodness?  And  what's  cleaner'n  a 
laundry  ?    Besides,  it's  handy  to  have  one  so  close.'  " 

The  interior  of  the  building  was  typical.  Its 
front-parlor,  the  only  room  not  "let,"  was  high- 
ceilinged  and  of  itself  marked  the  house  as  one  that 
had  been  pretentious  in  its  day.  It  boasted  the 
usual  bay-window,  a  marble  fireplace  and  a  fine  old 
chandelier  with  drop-crystal  ornaments — all  these 
eloquent  of  the  splendor  that  was  past.  Double 
doors  led  to  the  back-parlor,  which  was  the  dining- 
room  of  earlier  time§, 


no  Apron-Strings 

There  was  the  characteristic  hall,  with  stairs 
leading  down  under  stairs  that  led  up,  these  last 
to  rooms  shorn  of  their  former  glory,  and  now 
graduated  in  price,  and  therefore  in  importance, 
first,  by  virtue  of  their  outlook — their  position  as 
to  front  or  rear;  and,  second,  in  reference  to  their 
distance  above  the  street.  The  front  stairs  ended 
in  a  newel  post  that  supported  a  bronze  figure  hold- 
ing aloft  a  light — a  figure  grotesquely  in  contrast 
to  the  "  hall  stand,"  withT  its  mirror  and  its  hat 
hooks  and  its  Japanese  umbrella  receptacle. 

The  pride  of  Miss  St.  Clair's  heart  was  that 
"  front-parlor."  And  upon  it  she  had  "  slathered  " 
a  goodly  sum — with  a  fond  generosity  that  was 
wholly  mistaken,  since  her  purchases  utterly  ruined 
the  artistic  value  of  whatever  the  room  possessed 
of  good.  She  had  papered  its  walls  in  red  (one 
might  have  said  with  the  idea  of  matching  the  back- 
ground with  her  hair) ;  but  the  paper  bore  a  con- 
ventional pattern — in  the  same  tone — which  was  so 
wrought  with  circles  and  letter  S's  that  at  a  quick 
glance  the  wall  seemed  fairly  to  be  a-crawl.  And 
she  had  hung  the  bay-window  with  cheap  lace  cur- 
tains, flanked  at  either  side  by  other  curtains  of  a 
heavy  material  and  a  flashy  pattern. 


Apron-Strings  in 

The  fireplace  had  suffered  no  less  than  the 
window.  On  its  mantel  was  the  desecrating  plaster 
statuette  of  a  diving-girl — tinted  in  various  pastel 
shades;  this  between  two  vases  of  paper  flowers. 
And  above  the  fireplace,  against  the  writhing  wall 
paper,  hung  a  chromo  entitled  "The  Lorelei" — 
three  maidens  divested  of  apparel  as  completely  as 
was  the  diving-girl,  but  hedged  about  by  a  garish 
gold  frame. 

However,  it  was  in  the  matter  of  furniture  that 
Miss  St.  Clair  had  sinned  the  most.  This  furniture 
consisted  of  one  of  those  perpetrations,  one  of  those 
crimes  against  beauty  and  comfort,  that  is  known 
as  a  "  set/*  It  comprised  a  "  settee,"  a  "  rocker," 
an  armchair,  and  a  chair  without  arms — all  over- 
laid with  a  bright  green,  silky  velour  that  fiercely 
fought  the  red  wall  paper  and  the  landlady's  hair. 

At  this  hour  of  the  morning,  the  room  was  empty, 
save  for  a  bird  and  a  rag  doll  in  long  dresses.  A 
sash  of  the  bay-window  was  raised,  and  the  cheap 
lace  curtains  were  blowing  back  before  a  light 
breeze.  Against  the  curtains,  swinging  high  out  of 
the  way  of  the  breeze,  was  a  gilded  cage  of  generous 
size,  holding  a  green-and-yellow  canary. 

The  other  occupant  of  the  room  was  propped  up 


112  Apron-Strings 

carefully  on  the  chair  without  arms.  To  its  right, 
hanging  from  the  chair  back,  was  a  little  girl's  well- 
worn  coat;  to  its  left,  suspended  from  an  elastic, 
was  an  equally  shabby  hat.  And  the  pitiful  con- 
dition of  doll,  coat,  and  hat  was  sharply  accentuated 
by  the  background  of  the  chair's  verdant  nap. 

The  doll's  eyes  were  shoe  buttons,  of  an  ox-blood 
shade.     They  stared  redly  at  the  chirping  canary. 

The  stairs  creaked,  and  a  woman  came  bustling 
down — a  youngish  woman  with  "  rural  "  written  in 
her  over-long,  over-full  skirt,  her  bewreathed  straw 
hat,  and  her  three-quarters  coat  that  testified  to 
faithful  service.  Her  face  showed  glad  excitement. 
She  pulled  on  cotton  gloves  as  she  came,  and  glanced 
upward  over  a  shoulder. 

"Tottie!— Tottie!" 

"  Hoo-hoo !  "  Miss  St.  Clair  was  in  a  jovial 
mood. 

"  Somebody's  at  the  front  door."  The  velour 
rocker  held  a  half-dozen  freshly  wrapped  packages, 
spoil  of  an  earlier  shopping  expedition.  Mrs.  Colter 
gathered  the  packages  together. 

The  bell  began  to  ring  more  insistently,  and  with 
a  certain  rhythm.  Tottie  came  down,  in  a  tea- 
gown  that  was  well  past  its  prime,  and  that  held 


Apron-Strings  113 

the  same  relation  to  her  abundant  jewelry  that 
marble  fireplace  and  crystal  chandelier  sustained  to 
her  ornate  furniture.  "Don't  go  for  just  a 
minute,  Mrs.  Colter/*  she  suggested,  rotating  her 
chewing-gum,  and  adjusting  a  flowered  silk  shawl. 

There  was  a  boy  at  the  front  door,  a  capped  and 
uniformed  urchin  with  a  special  delivery  letter. 
"  Miss  Clare  Crosby  live  here  ?  "  he  inquired.  Be- 
hind his  back,  in  his  other  hand,  the  butt  of  a 
cigarette  sent  up  a  fragrant  thread  of  smoke. 

"  You  bet,*' — and  Miss  St.  Clair  relieved  him  of 
the  letter  he  proffered.  He  went  down  the  steps 
at  an  alarming  gait,  and  she  came  slowly  into 
the  parlor,  studying  the  letter,  feeling  it  inquir- 
ingly. 

"  Vm  goin*  to  finish  my  tradin','*  informed  Mrs. 
Colter.  "  It'll  be  six  months  likely  before  I  git 
down  to  N'York  again." 

"You  oughta  let  Clare  know  when  you're 
comin',"  declared  Tottie,  holding  the  letter  up  to 
the  light. 

"Oh,  well,  I  won't  start  home  till  she  gits  in. 
You  know  there's  trains  every  hour  to  Pough- 
keepsie."  Having  gathered  her  bundles  together, 
Mrs.  Colter  carried  them  into  the  back-parlor. 


114  Apron-Strings 

Left  alone,  Tottie  lost  no  further  time.  To  pry 
the  letter  open  and  unfold  it  was  the  swift  work 
of  a  thumb  and  finger  made  dexterous  by  long  use 
of  the  cigarette.  "  '  Great  news,  my  darling! '  "  she 
read.    " '  The  firm  says ' "'' 

But  Mrs.  Colter  was  returning.  *'  I'll  be  back 
from  the  store  in  no  time,"  she  announced  as  she 
came;  "only  want  to  git  a  bon-bon  spoon  and  a 
pickle  fork."  Then  calling  through  the  double 
doors,  "  Come,  Barbara ! '' 

Tottie,  having  returned  the  letter  to  its  enve- 
lope and  resealed  it,  now  set  it  against  the 
diving-girl  on  the  mantelpiece.  "What  you 
doin'?"  she  inquired;  "  blowin'  the  kid's  board 
money?  " 

"Board  money!"  cried  Mrs.  Colter.  "Why, 
Miss  Crosby  ain't  paid  me  for  two  weeks. — 
Barbara!" 

"  Yes,"  answered  a  child's  voice. 

"Well,  she's  behind  with  me  a  whole  month," 
returned  Tottie,  "  and  you  know  I  let  her  have  a 
room  here  just  to  be  accommodatin'.  The  stage 
is  my  perfession,  Mrs.  Colter.  Oh,  yes,  I've  played 
with  most  all  of  the  big  ones.  And  as  I  say,  I 
don't  have  to  take  roomers.     Why,  I  rented  this 


Apron-Strings  115 

house  just  so's  I  could  entertain  my  theatrical 
friends." 

Mrs.  Colter  took  out  and  put  back  her  hatpins. 
**  It  must  be  grand  to  be  a'  actress !  "  she  observed 
longingly. 

"  Well,  it  ain*t  so  bad.  For  one  thing,  you  can 
pick  a  name  you  like.  Now,  I  think  mine  is  real 
swell.  *  What'll  we  call  y'  ?  '  says  my  first  manager. 
Y'  see,  my  own  name  wouldn't  do,  specially  as  Fm 
a  dancer — Hopwell ;  ain't  that  fierce  ?  Tottie  Hop- 
well!  I  never  could  live  that  down.  So  I  says 
to  him,  *Well,  call  me  Mignon — Mignon  St. 
Clair.'  " 

Mrs.  Colter  gazed  at  her  hostess  wide-eyed. 
"Oh,  it's  grand!"  she  breathed.  *'— Barbara, 
come!" 

"  Fm  coming." 

On  flagging  feet,  the  child  came  out.  She  was 
small — not  over  nine  at  the  most — with  thin  little 
legs,  and  a  figure  too  slender  for  her  years.  Her 
dress  was  a  gingham,  very  much  faded.  One  untied 
lace  of  her  patched  shoes  whipped  from  side  to  side 
as  she  walked. 

But  it  was  not  the  poorness  of  her  dress  that 
made  her  a  pathetic  picture  as  she  halted,  looking 


ii6  Apron-Strings 

at  Mrs.  Colter.  It  was  her  face — a  grave,  little 
face,  thin,  and  lacking  childish  color.  Upon  it  were 
a  few  stray,  pale  freckles. 

Yet  it  was  not  a  plain  face,  and  about  it  fell  her 
hair,  brown  and  abundant,  in  gleaming  curls  and 
waves.  Her  eyes  were  lovely — large,  and  a  dark, 
almost  a  purplish,  blue.  They  were  wise  beyond 
the  age  of  their  owner,  and  sad.  They  told  of 
tears  shed,  of  wordless  appeal,  but  also  of  patient 
endurance  of  little  troubles.  Her  brows  had  an 
upward  turn  at  the  center  which  gave  her  a  quaint, 
questioning  look.  Her  mouth  was  tucked  in  at 
either  corner,  lending  a  wistful  expression  that  was 
habitual. 

"  Barbara,  come,  hurry,"  urged  Mrs.  Colter, 
holding  out  the  child's  hat. 

But  Barbara  hung  back.  "  Where's  Aunt 
Clare  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  tell  you,  Aunt  Clare  ain't  home  yet." 

Now,  Barbara  retreated.  "  Oh,  I  want  to  stay 
here,  to  see  her.    Please,  please." 

"  Look  how  you  act ! "  complained  Mrs.  Colter, 
helplessly. 

Tottie  came  to  the  rescue.  "  Say,  I'll  keep  a'  eye 
on  the  kid." 


Apron-Strings  117 

"Oh,  will  you?"  cried  Mrs.  Colter,  gratefully. 

"  Sure.     Leave  her." 

"  That's  mighty  nice  of  you. — And  you  be  a  good 
girl,  Barbara." 

"  I  will,"  promised  the  child,  settling  herself  upon 
the  settee  with  a  happy  smile. 

A  bell  rang.  "  Ah,  there  she  is  now !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Colter,  and  as  Barbara  sprang  up,  she  ran 
to  her  and  hastily  tidied  the  gingham  dress. 

But  Tottie  was  giving  a  touch  to  her  appearance 
at  the  hall  mirror.  "  Nope,"  she  declared  over  a 
shoulder.     *'  She's  got  a  key." 

Though  she  heard  the  bell  again,  and  it  was 
now  ringing  impatiently,  Mrs.  Colter  was  not  con- 
vinced. She  knelt  before  Barbara,  straightening  a 
washed-out  ribbon  that  stood  up  limply  above 
the  brown  curls.  "Now,  come!  Quiet!"  she 
admonished. 

Out  of  the  pocket  of  the  gingham,  Barbara  had 
brought  a  small  and  withered  nosegay.  There  were 
asters  in  it,  and  a  torn  and  woeful  carnation. 
"  See !  "  she  cried.  "  I'm  going  to  give  Aunt  Clare 
all  these." 

Tottie  was  gone  to  admit  the  visitor.  Mrs.  Colter 
lowered   her   voice.      "Yes,   honey,"   she   agreed. 


ii8  Apron-Strings 

"  And  you're  goin'  to  tell  your  Aunt  Clare  what 
a  nice  place  we've  got  in  Poughkeepsie,  and  how 

much  you  like  it,  and "     The  outer  door  had 

opened.     She  whispered  an  added  suggestion. 

There  was  a  young  man  at  the  front  door — a 
man  with  a  quick,  nervous  manner.  He  wore 
clothes  that  were  unmistakably  English,  and  pince- 
nez  from  which  hung  a  narrow  black  ribbon.  And 
he  carried  a  cane.  As  he  took  off  his  derby  to 
greet  the  landlady  with  studied  courtesy,  his 
hair  showed  sparse  across  the  top  of  his  head. 
His  mustache  worn  short,  was  touched  with 
gray. 

"  She's  out  yodelin'  somewheres,  Mr.  Hull,"  in- 
formed Tottie,  filling  the  doorway  inhospitably, 
but  unconsciously. 

Hull's  face  fell.  "  Well, — well,  do  you  mind  if 
I  wait  for  her  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  come  in.     Come  in." 

He  came,  with  a  stride  that  was  plainly  acquired 
in  uniform.  His  cane  hung  smartly  on  his  left 
arm.     He  carried  his  head  high. 

It  was  Tottie's  conviction  that  he  was  the  son  of 
a  nobleman — perhaps  even  of  a  duke;  and  that 
he  was  undoubtedly  an   erstwhile  officer   in  the 


Apron-Strings  119 

King's  service.  She  was  respectful  to  Hull,  even 
a  little  awe-struck  in  his  presence.  He  had  a  way 
of  looking  past  her  when  he  spoke,  of  treating  her 
as  he  might  an  orderly  who  was  making  a  report. 
With  him,  she  always  adopted  a  certain  throaty 
manner  of  speaking, — a  deep,  honey  huskiness  for 
which  a  well-known  actress,  who  was  a  favorite  of 
hers,  was  renowned,  and  which  she  had  carefully 
practiced.  How  many  times  of  a  Sunday,  cane  in 
hand,  had  she  seen  him  come  down  that  street  to 
her  steps,  wearing  a  silk  hat.  Sometimes  for  his 
sake  alone  she  wished  that  she  could  dispense  with 
that  laundry. 

"  Then  she  didn't  get  my  letter,"  said  Hull. 

"Can't  say,"  answered  Tottie,  taking  her  eyes 
from  the  mantelpiece. 

Hull  spied  the  envelope.  "  No;  here  it  is.  You 
see,  I  didn't  think  I  could  follow  it  so  soon." 

Mrs.  Colter  had  risen,  and  was  struggling  with 
her  veil. 

"  Mrs.  Colter,  this  is  Miss  Crosby's  fy-an-see," 
introduced  Tottie.  "And,  Barbara,  this  is  goin' 
to  be  your  Uncle  Felix." 

Hull  sat,  and  Barbara  came  to  him,  putting  out 
a  shy  hand.    "  Ah !     So  this  is  the  little  niece !  "  he 


I20  Apron-Strings 

exclaimed.  "  Well !  Well ! — When  did  you  come 
down,  Mrs.  Colter?" 

"  Left  Poughkeepsie  at  six-thirty  this  mornin'. 
And  now  I  must  be  runnin'  along — to  see  if  I  can 
find  that  pickle  fork." 

Barbara  had  been  studying  the  newcomer  more 
frankly.  Emboldened  by  his  smile,  she  brought 
forward  the  nosegay.  ''  See  what  I've  got  for  Aunt 
Clare,"  she  whispered. 

Hull  patted  the  crumpled  blossoms.  "You're  a 
thoughtful  little  body,"  he  declared.  And  as 
Mrs.  Colter  started  out,  "  Could  I  trouble  you, 
I  wonder  ?  "  He  got  up.  "I  mean  to  say,  will  you 
buy  something  for  the  little  niece  ?  " 

"  Oh,  ain't  that  nice  of  him !  "  cried  Mrs.  Colter, 
appealing  to  Tottie. 

Hull  was  going  into  a  pocket  to  cover  his  con- 
fusion at  being  praised.  *'  A — a  pinafore,  for  in- 
stance," he  suggested,  "  or  a — a " 

"  A  coat,"  pronounced  Tottie.  "  Look  at  that 
one !     It's  fierce ! " 

With  the  grave  air  of  a  little  old  lady,  Barbara 
interposed.  "  I  need  shoes  worse,"  she  declared. 
**  See."     She  put  out  a  foot. 

"Yes,  shoes,"  agreed  Hull.     He  pressed  a  bill 


Apron-Strings  121 

into  Mrs.  Colter^s  hand.  There  were  tears  in  her 
mild  eyes.  She  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  but 
nodded,  smiHng,  and  hurried  away.  He  sat  again, 
and  drew  the  child  to  him. 

Tottie,  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece  once  more, 
observed  the  two  with  languid,  but  not  unkindly, 
interest.  "  I  wonder  why  the  kid's  father  and 
mother  don't  do  more  for  her,"  she  hazarded. 

Hull  frowned.  "  It  makes  my  blood  boil  when 
I  think  how  that  precious  pair  have  loaded  the  child 
onto  Miss  Crosby,"  he  answered. 

"  Pretty  bony,"  agreed  Tottie. 

"  And  she's  so  brave  about  it — so  uncomplaining. 
Why,  any  other  girl  would  have  put  her  niece  into 
an  orphanage." 

The  rooming-house  keeper  grinned.  "Well, 
she  did  think  of  it,"  she  said  slyly.  "  But  they 
turned  her  down.  Y'  see,  Barbara — ain't  a' 
orphan." 

Now  Barbara  lifted  an  eager  face.  "My 
mother's  in  Africa,  and  my  father's  in  Africa," 
she  boasted. 

"  Out  o'  sight,  pettie,  out  o*  mind." 

Hull  took  one  of  the  child's  hands  in  both  of 
his,      "You've   got   a   mighty   fine   auntie,    little 


122  Apron-Strings 

girl,"  he  said  with  feeling.  "Just  the  best  auntie 
in  the  whole  world." 

Barbara  nodded.  "  And  I  love  her/*  she  an- 
swered, "  best  of  everybody  'cept  my  mother." 

Tottie  threw  up  both  well-powdered  arms. 
"Hear  that!"  she  cried.  "Except  her  mother! 
And  Clare  says  the  kid  ain't  seen  the  mother  since 
she  was  weaned !  " 

Hull  shook  his  head.  "  Isn*t  it  strange ! "  he 
mused;  " — the  difference  between  members  of  the 
same  family!  There's  one  sister,  neglecting  her 
own  child — and  a  sweet  child.  And  here's  another 
sister,  bearing  the  burden." 

But  Barbara  was  quick  to  the  rescue  of  the 
absent  parent  under  criticism.  "  Aunt  Clare  says 
that  some  day  my  mother's  coming  back  from 
Africa,"  she  protested.  "  And  then  I'm  going  to 
be  with  her  all  the  time — every  day." 

"  I  s'pose  the  kid'll  live  with  you  and  Clare  when 
you  marry,"  ventured  Tottie. 

"  No.  Clare  doesn't  want  me  to  have  the  ex- 
pense. Says  it  isn't  fair.  But — I'll  get  in  touch 
with  that  father." 

Again  the  child  interposed,  recognizing  the  note 
of  threatening.     "  Maybe  my  father  won't  come 


Apron-Strings  123 

with  my  mother,"  she  declared.  "  Because  he  hunts 
lions." 

Tottie  laughed.  "Well,  he'd  better  cut  out 
huntin'  Hons,"  she  retorted,  "  and  hunt  you  some 
duds."  Then  to  Hull,  "  I  wonder  what  they're  up 
to,  'way  out  there.  What  is  it  about  'em  that's  so 
secret  ?  " 

"  That's  not  my  affair,"  reminded  Hull,  bluntly. 
He  got  up,  dropping  the  child's  hand. 

Feeling  herself  dismissed,  but  scarcely  knowing  at 
what  or  whom  this  stranger  was  directing  his  ill- 
temper,  Barbara  retreated,  and  to  the  doll,  sitting 
starkly  upon  the  green  chair.  "  Come  on,  Lolly- 
Poppins,"  she  whispered  tenderly,  and  taking  the 
doll  up  in  her  arms,  went  back  to  the  corner  of 
the  settee  to  rock  and  kiss  it,  to  smooth  and  caress 
it  with  restless  little  hands. 

Tottie  sidled  over  to  Hull,  lowering  her  voice 
against  the  child's  overhearing  her.  "Y*  know 
what  /  think  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"What?" 

"  I  think  the  pair  of  'em  is  in  j— a— 1— e,"— she 
spelled  the  word  behind  a  guarding  hand. 

Hull  ignored  the  assertion.  "Where  is  Miss 
Crosby  singing  today?  "  he  asked  curtly. 


124  Apron-Strings 

Tottie  went  back  to  the  hearth.  "  Search  me/' 
she  declared.  "  It  looks  like  your  future  bride, 
Mr.  Hull,  don't  tell  nobody  nothin'.  What's  your 
news?  " 

Barbara  had  settled  down,  Lolly-Poppins  in  the 
clasp  of  both  arms.  She  crooned  to  the  doll,  her 
eyes  closed. 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  any,"  answered  Hull.  Then  more 
cordially,  "  But  I  got  a  raise  today." 

"  Grand !     The  Northrups,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Chemists,"  said  Hull,  going  to  look  out  of  the 
window. 

"  Well,  money's  your  friend,"  declared  Tottie, 
philosophically.     "  Me  for  it !  " 

A  door-latch  clicked.  Someone  had  entered  the 
hall. 

"That's  her!" 

"  Don't  tell  her  Barbara's  here.  It'll  be  a  jolly 
surprise." 

Tottie  agreed,  and  with  a  quick  movement  caught 
the  silk  shawl  from  her  own  shoulders  and  covered 
the  child. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Clare  ran  all  the  way,  with  scared  eyes,  and 
heaving  breast,  and  a  hand  clutching  the  rim  of 
the  tilted  hat.  And  only  when  she  reached  the 
corner  nearest  home  did  she  slow  a  little,  to  look 
behind  her  as  if  she  feared  pursuit.  Then  finding 
herself  breathless,  she  stepped  aside  for  a  moment 
into  the  entrance  of  an  apartment  house,  and  there, 
under  the  suspicious  watch  of  a  negro  elevator  boy, 
pretended  to  hunt  for  something  in  her  music- 
roll. 

As  she  waited,  she  remembered  that  there  was 
some  laundry  due  her  in  the  basement.  That  must 
be  collected.  She  walked  on,  having  taken  a  second 
look  around,  and  darted  under  the  front  steps  to 
make  her  inquiry.  She  promised  to  call  for  the 
articles  in  ten  minutes  by  way  of  the  back  stairs; 
then  slowly  ascended  the  brownstone  steps,  glancing 
up  the  street  as  she  climbed,  but  as  indifferently 
as  possible. 

Once  inside  the  storm  door,  she  listened.  Some- 
125 


126  Apron-Strings 

one  might  be  telephoning — they  knew  her  number  at 
the  Rectory.  Or  Tottie  might  have  a  visitor,  which 
would  interfere  with  plans. 

She  heard  no  sound.  Letting  herself  in  noise- 
lessly, she  tiptoed  to  the  parlor  door  and  opened 
it  softly. 

"  Hello-o-o-o ! "  It  was  Hull,  laughing  at  the 
surprise  they  had  for  her. 

''  Felix !  "     She  halted,  aghast. 

"  Well,  aren't  you  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  Yes !  " — but  her  face  belied  her. 
She  tugged  at  her  hat,  seeking,  even  in  her  nerv- 
ousness, to  adjust  it  becomingly. 

"  What're  y*  pussy-f ootin'  around  here  for  ?  " 
questioned  Tottie,  sharply. 

"Fm  not— -Tottie,  can  I  see  Mr.  Hull  alone?" 

"  Sure,  dearie.  As  I  say,  don't  never  git  your 
ear  full  of  other  folks's  troubles — and  secrets." 
She  went  out,  with  a  backward  look  at  once  crafty 
and  resentful. 

With  a  quick  warning  sign  to  Hull,  Clare  ran  to 
the  door,  bent  to  listen  a  moment,  holding  her 
breath,  then  ran  to  him,  leading  him  toward  the 
window.  "  Felix,"  she  began,  "  go  back  to  North- 
rups.     I'll  'phone  you  in  an  hour." 


Apron-Strings  127 

He  had  been  watching  her  anxiously.  "  What  is 
it?     Something  wrong? " 

*'Yes!  Yes!  My — my  brother  and  sister — in 
Africa."  She  got  his  hat  from  where  he  had  laid 
it  on  the  rocker. 

*'  In  trouble  ? "  he  persisted,  studying  her 
narrowly. 

"Yes, — in  trouble.  And  I  don't  want  to  see 
any  reporters — not  one !  '* 

"  That's  all  right  "—he  spoke  very  gently—"  I'll 
see  them." 

Her  face  whitened.  "Oh,  no!  There  isn*t  any- 
thing to  say.     Felix,  TU  just  leave^here,  and  they 

won't  be  able  to  find  me.     And  you  go  now " 

She  urged  him  toward  the  door. 

He  stood  his  ground.  "  You're  not  giving  me 
the  straight  of  this,"  he  asserted,  suddenly  severe. 

"  I  am,  I  tell  you !  I  am !  "  Her  face  drew  into 
lines  of  suffering.  She  entreated  him,  clasping  his 
arm  with  her  trembling  hands. 

He  freed  himself  from  her  hold.     "  If  I  thought 

you  were  lying "     Then,  roughly,  "  I  hate  a 

liar!" 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  not  lying!  Honest  I'm  not!  Oh, 
believe  me,  and  go ! — Felix ! " 


128  Apron-Strings 

He  forbore  looking  at  her.  "Very  well,"  he 
said  coldly,  and  started  out. 

She  followed  him  to  the  door.  "  And  don't  come 
back  here,  will  you  ?     Promise  you  won't !  " 

"  I  shan't  come  back,"  he  promised. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  Thank  you !  "  Then  in  tear- 
ful appeal,  seeing  his  displeasure,  "  Oh,  Felix,  I 
love  you ! "  The  poignancy  of  her  cry  made  him 
relent  suddenly,  and  turn.  He  put  an  arm  about 
her,  and  she  clung  to  him  wildly.  "  Oh,  Felix, 
trust  me !     Oh,  you're  all  I've  got !  " 

"  But  there's  something  I  don't  understand  about 
this,"  he  reminded  more  kindly. 

"  I'll  explain  later.  I  will !  You'll  hear  from  me 
soon." 

Again  he  drew  away  from  her,  "  Just  as  you 
say," — resentfully. 

The  front  door  shut  behind  him,  Clare  called  up 
the  stairs.  "Tottie!  Tottie!"  She  listened,  a 
hand  pressing  her  bosom. 

"A-a-a-all  right!" 

Clare  did  not  wait.  Running  back  into  the  front- 
parlor,  she  stood  on  a  chair  in  the  bay-window,  and 
worked  at  the  hook  holding  the  bird-cage.  "  Well, 
precious !  "   she  crooned.      "  Missy's  little   friend ! 


Apron-Strings  129 

Her  darling  pet !  Her  love-bird !  How*s  the  sweet 
baby  ?  "  The  cage  released,  she  stepped  down  and 
hurried  across  the  room. 

"Aunt  Clare!" — first  the  clear,  glad  cry;  next, 
a  head  all  tumbled  curls. 

*'  Barbara !  "  Clare  came  short.  Then,  as  Tottie 
sauntered  in,  "  Oh,  what's  this  young  one  doing 
here?" 

Barbara  had  risen,  discarding  the  doll  and  the 
shawl,  and  gone  to  Clare.  Now,  feeling  herself 
rebuffed,  she  went  back  to  the  settee,  watching  Clare 
anxiously. 

''  Waitin'  for  you,"  answered  Tottie,  taking  up 
her  shawl. 

"  Aunt  Clare !  "  pleaded  the  child,  softly. 

"  Oh !  Oh !  "  mourned  Clare.  She  set  the  cage 
on  the  table. 

Barbara  bethought  herself  of  the  gift.  Out  of 
the  sagging  pocket  of  the  gingham,  she  produced 
the  tightly-made  bouquet.  "  See !  "  she  cried,  hold- 
ing out  the  flowers  with  a  smile.  "  For  you,  Aunt 
Clare!" 

But  Clare  brushed  them  aside,  and  fetched  the 
child's  hat.  "Where's  that  Colter  woman?"  she 
demanded  angrily. 


130  Apron-Strings 

Tottie  lolled  against  the  mantel,  studying  Clare 
and  enjoying  her  gum.  "  Huntin'  pickle  forks/' 
she  replied. 

"  Aunt  Clare !  "  insisted  Barbara,  again  proffer- 
ing the  drooping  nosegay. 

*'  Here !  Put  this  on !  " — it  was  the  coat.  Clare 
took  one  small  arm  and  directed  it  into  a  sleeve. 

"  Do  I  have  to  go  ? "  asked  Barbara,  plain- 
tively. 

"  Now  don't  make  a  fuss !  " — crossly.  "  Stand 
still !  "  Then  taking  the  bouquet  away  and  letting 
it  drop  to  the  floor,  "  Here  1  Here's  the  other 
sleeve."     The  coat  went  on. 

"  Are  you  coming  with  me? "  persisted  Barbara, 
brightened  by  the  thought. 

But  Clare  did  not  heed.  "  When'll  she  be  back  ?  " 
She  avoided  looking  at  Tottie.  " — Let  me  button 
you,  will  you  ?  " — this  with  an  impatient  tug  at 
the  coat. 

"  Can't  say,"  answered  Tottie,  with  exasperating 
indifference. 

"  Tottie,  I'm  going  to  move." 

At  that,  the  landlady  started,  suddenly  concerned. 
**  Move  ?  "  she  echoed  incredulously. 

Clare  ran  to  a  sewing-machine  that  stood  against 


Apron-Strings  131 

the  wall  behind  the  settee.  "Today/'  she  added; 
"—now." 

"  Where  you  goin*  ?  " 

"  To— to  Jersey." 

Barbara,  coated  and  hatted,  and  with  Lolly- 
Poppins  firmly  clasped  in  her  arms,  followed  the 
younger  woman.     "  Aunt  Clare " 

"Jersey!"  scoffed  Tottie.  "You  sure  don't 
mean  Jersey  City/' 

Clare  covered  her  confusion  by  hunting  among 
the  unfinished  work  on  the  machine.  "  Yes, — 
Jersey  City,"  she  challenged. 

Tottie's  eyes  narrowed  with  suspicion.  "  Must 
be  pretty  bad,"  she  observed.     "  Pretty  bad." 

Barbara,  planted  squarely  in  Clare's  path, 
again  importuned.  "Am  I  going  too,  Aunt 
Clare?" 

"  No !     Sit  down !     And  keep  quiet! " 

The  child  obeyed.  There  was  comfort  in  Lolly- 
Poppins.  She  lifted  the  doll  to  her  breast,  mother- 
ing it. 

"  What's  happened,  pettie?  "  inquired  Tottie. 

"  Nothing— nothing."     Clare  folded  a  garment. 

"Nothin'— but  you're  movin'  to  Jersey  City. 
—Ha!" 


132  Apron-Strings 

"  Well,  most  of  my  singing  is  across  the  River 
now,  so  it's  more  convenient." 

"  Mm  !  " — it  implied  satisfaction.  Then  care- 
lessly, ''  Say,  here's  a  letter  for  you."  And  as  Clare 
took  it,  tearing  it  open,  "  Glad  nothin'  's  gone  wrong. 
— Is  that  good  news  ?  " 

Clare  thrust  the  letter  into  her  dress.  ''  Oh,  just 
another  singing  engagement,"  she  answered.  And 
went  back  to  the  heap  of  muslin  on  the  sewing- 
machine. 

Tottie's  face  reddened  beyond  the  circumference 
of  her  rouge  spots.  She  took  a  long  step  in  Clare's 
direction,  and  laid  a  hand  on  her  arm.  "  Now,  look 
here !  "  she  said  threateningly.  "  You're  lyin'  about 
this  move ! " 

"I'm  not!     I'm  not!" 

"  Somebody's  been  knockin*  me." 

"  No.     Nonsense !  "     Clare  tried  to  free  her  arm. 

But  Tottie  only  held  her  the  tighter.  "Then 
why  are  you  goin*  ?  " 

"  Fve  told  you. — Please,  Tottie ! "  Again  she 
strove  to  loosen  the  other's  grip,  seeing  which  Bar- 
bara, fearing  for  her  Aunt  Clare,  cast  aside  her 
doll  and  ran  to  stand  beside  the  younger  woman, 
trembling  a  little,  and  ready  to  burst  into  tears. 


Apron-Strings  133 

"Aw,  you  can't  fool  me!"  declared  Tottie. 

"  I  don't  want  to !  " 

Tottie  thrust  her  face  close  to  Clare's.  "  You've 
got  your  marchin'  orders !  " 

"  What  do  you — you  mean  ? "  The  other 
choked;  her  look  wavered. 

"  You're  on  the  run." 

"I  am  not!     No!" 

Tottie's  voice  lowered,  losing  its  harshness,  and 
took  on  a  wheedling  tone.  "  But  you  never  have  to 
run,"  she  informed  slyly,  "  if  you've  got  the  goods 
on  somebody."     She  winked. 

"  I— I  haven't." 

"  Stick — and  fight — and  cash  in." 

"  Tottie !  "     Clare  stared,  appalled. 

"  O-o-o-oh !  " — sneeringly.  "Pullin'  the  goody- 
goody  stuff,  eh?" 

".Let  me  go !     Let  me  go !  " 

"  Auntie  Clare !  "  With  the  cry  of  fear,  Barbara 
came  between  them,  catching  at  the  elder  woman's 
arm. 

Tottie  loosed  her  hold  and  went  back  to  the 
mantel  to  lean  and  look.  Clare  drew  out  a  drawer 
of  the  small  center-table,  searched  it,  and  laid  a 
hand-mirror  beside  the  cage. 


134  Apron-Strings 

"  What'll  be  your  new  address  ?  " 

"  ril  send  it  to  you." 

The  landlady  began  to  whine.  *'  Ain't  that  just 
my  rotten  luck !  Another  room  empty ! — you  know 
you  oughta  give  me  a  week's  notice." 

"  Oh,  I'll  pay  you  for  it,"  answered  Clare, 
bitterly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  gouge  you,  dearie.  And 
I  don't  know  what  I'll  do  when  you're  gone.  I've 
just  learned  to  love  you. — And  with  summer  comin* 
on,  goodness  knows  how  I'm  goin'  to  rent  that 
back-parlor.  It's  hard  to  run  a  respectable  house 
and  keep  it  full.  Now  as  I  say,  if  I  was  careless, 
I " 

But  what  Miss  St.  Clair  might  have  been  moved 
to  do  under  such  conditions  was  not  forthcoming, 
for  now  steps  were  heard,  climbing  to  the  front 
door.  Next,  a  man's  voice  spoke.  Then  the  bell 
rang. 

"Wait!  Wait!"  As  she  warned  Tottie,  Clare 
crossed  to  the  bay-window  at  a  run. 

"  Maybe  here's  a  new  roomer,"  suggested  the 
hopeful  landlady. 

But  Clare  had  pressed  aside  the  heavy  curtain 
framing  the  window  until  she  could  command  the 


Apron-Strings  135 

stoop.  Two  men  were  waiting  there.  **  Oh !  "  she 
breathed,  almost  reeling  back  upon  Tottie.  "Oh, 
don't  let  'em  in!  Don't!  I  can't  see  anybody! 
Say  I'm  gone !  Oh,  please,  Tottie !  I'm  gone  for 
good."  She  was  beside  Barbara  again,  and  was 
almost  lifting  the  child  from  the  floor  by  an  arm. 
Then  she  reached  for  the  bird-cage. 

"Friends  of  yours?'*  questioned  Tottie.  She 
also  peeked  out. 

"  No !  No !  "—and  to  Barbara,  "  Come !  Don't 
you  speak!  Don't  open  your  mouth!  Not  a 
word ! "  Taking  the  child  with  her,  she  fled  into 
her  own  room,  closing  the  door. 

The  bell  rang  again,  but  Tottie  took  her  time. 
Going  to  the  fireplace,  she  turned  "  The  Lorelei " 
to  the  wall;  then  slipping  the  shawl  from  her 
shoulders,  she  draped  it  carelessly  over  the  plaster 
statuette  of  the  diving-girl.  After  which  she 
stepped  back,  appraised  the  effect,  and  went  to 
open  the  front  door  to  a  large,  ill-tempered  man  in 
a  loose  sack  suit,  and  a  young  man,  tall  and  white 
to  ghastliness,  whose  nostrils  quivered  and  whose 
mouth  was  scarcely  more  than  a  blue  line. 

"  Good-morning,"  began  Balcome,  entering  with- 
out being  asked. 


136  Apron-Strings 

"Won't  you  step  in?"  begged  Tottie,  pointedly. 

The  door  to  the  back-parlor  had  opened  to  a 
crack.  And  a  face  distorted  with  fear  looked 
through  the  narrow  opening.  Clare  heard  the  in- 
vitation, and  the  entering  men.  She  shut  the  door 
softly. 

Tottie  followed  her  visitors.  This  was  a  trans- 
formed Tottie — all  airs  and  graces,  with  just  the 
touch  of  the  dramatic  that  might  be  expected  from 
a  great  "  star."  Indeed,  she  paused  a  moment, 
framed  by  the  doorway,  and  waited  before  deliver- 
ing her  accustomed  preamble.  She  smiled  at  the 
elder  man,  who  returned  a  scowl.  She  bestowed  a 
brighter  smile  on  Wallace,  who  failed  to  see  it,  but 
licked  at  his  lips,  and  smoothed  his  throat,  like 
a  man  suddenly  gone  dry.  Then  she  entered, 
slowly,  gracefully,  allowing  the  teagown  to  trail. 

"As  I  say,"  she  began,  turning  her  head  from 
side  to  side  with  what  was  intended  to  be  a  pretty 
movement,  " — as  I  say,  it's  a  real  joy  to  room  your 
theatrical  friends.  Because  they  fetch  y'  such 
swell  callers." 

Balcome,  with  no  interest  in  this  information, 
aimed  toward  Wallace  a  gesture  that  was  meant 
to  start  the  matter  in  hand. 


Apron-Strings  137 

Wallace  rallied  his  wits.  "  Is  Miss — er — Crosby 
at  home  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Miss  Crosby,"  repeated  Tottie,  with  her  very 
best  honey-huskiness;  "oh,  she  don't  rent  here  no 
more." 

He  reddened  in  an  excess  of  relief. 

"She  don't?"  mocked  Balcome,  glaring  at  the 
teagown. 

"  Nope,"  went  on  the  landlady,  mistaking  his 
attention  for  a  compliment,  and  simpering  a  little, 
with  a  quick  fluttering  of  her  lids;  "took  all  her 
stuff. — Hm ! "  Now  she  let  her  eyes  play  side- 
wise,  toward  that  double  door  behind  Balcome. 

He  took  the  hint.     "  I  see." 

"  And,  oh,  Fm  goin'  to  miss  her !  Her  first  name 
bein'  Clare,  and  my  last  name  bein'  St.  Clair,  I 
always  feel,  somehow,  that  she's  a  sorta  relation." 

Balcome  went  nearer  to  the  double  door.  "  And 
you  don't  know  where  she's  living  now  ? "  He 
raised  his  voice  a  little.  Then  with  Wallace  gaping 
in  amazement,  he  put  a  hand  into  a  pocket  and 
brought  out  several  bills.  He  gave  these  a  flirta- 
tious wave  before  Tottie's  eyes.  "  You  don't 
know?" 

"Say,  y'  don't  expect  me  to  tell  y',  do  y'?" 


138  Apron-Strings 

she  inquired,  also  raising  her  voice.  Those  eyes 
sparkled  with  greed. 

"Of  course  I  expect  you  to  tell  me/'  Balcome 
mocked  again,  sliding  the  bills  into  a  coat  pocket. 

"  Well,  she  didn't  leave  her  new  address."  Out 
came  a  beringed  hand. 

"  Didn't  she  ?  "  Once  more  Balcome  displayed 
the  money. 

"  No,  she  said  she'd  send  it."  Then  pointing 
toward  the  double  door,  her  fingers  closed  on  the 
bribe. 

Wallace  gulped,  looking  about  him  at  the  carpet, 
like  a  creature  in  misery  that  would  lie  down. 

Balcome  was  taking  a  turn  about  the  room.  "  So 
she's  gone,"  he  said.  "  Too  bad !  Too  bad !  And 
no  address."  Presently,  as  he  came  close  to  the 
door  again,  he  gave  one  half  of  it  a  sudden, 
wrenching  pull.  It  opened,  and  disclosed  Clare, 
crouched  to  listen,  one  knee  on  the  floor. 

"  No !  Don't !  "  It  was  Tottie,  pretending  to 
interfere. 

"  0-o-oh !  "  Clare  scrambled  to  her  feet.  But 
contrary  to  what  might  have  been  expected,  she 
almost  hurled  herself  into  the  room,  shut  the  door 
at  her  back,  and  stood  against  it. 


Apron-Strings  139 

Tottie  addressed  herself  angrily  to  Balcome. 
"  Say,  look-a  here !     This  ain't  the  way  out ! " 

*'  My  mistake,"  apologized  Balcome.  Then  with 
a  look  at  Wallace  that  was  full  of  meaning,  he 
retired  to  the  hearth,  planted  his  shoulders  against 
the  mantel  at  Tottie's  favorite  vantage  point,  and 
surveyed  Clare.  "  We  thought  you  were  gone,"  he 
remarked  good-naturedly.  He  bobbed  at  her,  with 
a  flop  of  the  big  hat  against  his  leg. 

She  made  no  reply,  only  waited,  breathing  hard, 
her  eyes  now  on  Wallace,  now  on  Tottie.  To  the 
former,  her  glance  was  a  warning. 

He  understood.  "  We'd — we'd  like  to  see  Miss 
Crosby  alone,"  he  said  curtly,  for  by  another  wave 
of  the  hat  Balcome  had  given  him  the  initiative. 

"  Yes,— go,  Tottie." 

Miss  St.  Clair  turned,  her  gown  traiHng  luxuri- 
ously. "  I  seem  to  be  in  the  way  today,"  she 
laughed,  with  an  attempt  at  coquetry.  Then  to 
Clare,  "  I'm  your  friend,  pettie.  If  you  need 
me 

The  younger  man  could  no  longer  contain  him- 
self.    "  Oh,  she  told  us  you  were  here !  "  he  cried. 

"Tottie!" 

"It's  a  lie!— a  lie!"     She  swept  past  him,  her 


140  Apron-Strings 

face  ugly  with  resentment.  And  to  Clare,  "  Don't 
you  let  this  feller  put  anything  over  on  you, 
kid/' 

"All  right,  madam!  All  right!"  Wallace's 
fingers  twitched.  He  was  ready  to  thrust  her  from 
the  room. 

She  went,  with  a  backward  look  intended  to  re- 
duce him;  and  shut  the  door.  As  he  followed, 
opening  the  door  to  find  that  she  was  actually  gone, 
and  leaning  out  to  see  her  whereabouts  farther 
along  the  hall,  she  broke  into  a  raucous  laugh. 

"  Rubber !  "  she  taunted.     "  Rubber !  " 

When  he  had  shut  the  door  again,  and  faced 
about,  he  kept  hold  of  the  knob,  as  if  supported  by 
it.  "  I — I  felt  you'd  like  to  know,  Miss  Crosby," 
he  commenced,  forcing  himself  to  speak  evenly, 
"  that  Mr.  Farvel  is  over  there  at  the  Rectory." 

"  Oh !  "  She  put  a  hand  to  her  head,  waited  a 
moment,  then —  "  I — I  thought — maybe  when — I 
saw  you." 

"  I  knew  that  was  why  you  left."  He  was  more 
at  ease  now,  and  came  toward  her.  "  Do  you  want 
to  see  him  ?  " 

"No!  No!"  She  put  out  both  hands,  plead- 
ingly.    "  I  don't  want  anything  to  do  with  him !     I 


Apron-Strings  j^i 

don't  want  him  to  know  I'm  in  New  York. 
Promise  me !     Promise !  " 

Wallace  looked  down.  "  Well, — it  isn't  my  af- 
fair," he  said  slowly. 

Mrs.  Colter  bustled  in,  a  package  swinging  from 
one  hand  by  a  holder.  "Oh,  excuse  me!"  she 
begged,  coming  short. 

Clare  ran  to  her  in  a  panic.  "  Oh,  go !  Go ! " 
she  ordered  almost  fiercely.  "  Go  home !  Don't 
wait !  Hurry !  "  Then  as  Mrs.  Colter,  scared  and 
bev/ildered,  attempted  to  pass,  "  No !  Go  'round ! 
Go  'round!" 

"  Yes,"  faltered  the  other,  dropping  and  picking 
up  her  bundle  as  Clare  shoved  her  hallward;  "  yes," 
She  fled. 

"  Close  the  door !  "  cried  Clare.  And  as  Wallace 
obeyed,  she  again  went  to  stand  against  the  panels 
of  the  double  door.  She  seemed  in  a  very  fever  of 
anxiety.  "  Please  go  now,  Wallace,"  she  begged. 
"  Please !     I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming.     It 

was  kind.     But  if  you'll  go "    Her  voice  broke 

hysterically. 

He  glanced  at  Balcome,  and  the  elder  man  nodded 
in  acquiescence.  "  We'll  go,"  said  Wallace.  "  I'm 
glad  to  have  seen  you  again."     He  moved  away, 


142  Apron-Strings 

and  Balcome  went  with  him.     "  But  I  hoped  I  could 

do  something  for  you '* 

"There's   nothing," — eagerly.      "If   you'll   just 

go." 

"  Well,  good-by,  then." 

"  Good-by.     Good-by,  Mr.  Balcome." 

"  Good-by,"  grumbled  Balcome. 

Wallace's  hand  was  on  the  knob  when  a  child's 
voice  piped  up  from  beyond  the  door — a  voice  ready 
to  tremble  into  tears,  and  full  of  pleading.  "  But 
I  want  to  kiss  her,"  it  cried. 

Clare  fairly  threw  herself  forward  to  keep  the 
two  men  from  leaving.  "  Wait !  Wait !  "  she  im- 
plored in  a  whisper. 

"  She's  busy,  I  tell  you ! " — it  was  Mrs.  Colter. 
"  Now  come  along." 

Something  brushed  the  outer  panels;  then, 
"  Good-by,  Aunt  Clare ! "  piped  the  little  voice 
again. 

"  Come !     Come !  "  scolded  Mrs.  Colter. 

Now  a  sound  of  weeping,  and  whispers — Mrs. 
Colter  entreating  obedience,  and  making  promises; 
next,  a  choking  final  farewell — "  Good-by,  Aunt 
Clare!" 

"  Good-by,"  answered  Clare,  hollowly. 


Apron-Strings  143 

As  the  weeping  grew  louder,  and  the  outer  door 
shut,  Wallace  went  toward  the  bay-window,  slowly, 
as  if  drawn  by  a  force  he  could  not  master.  He  put 
a  shaking  hand  to  a  curtain  and  moved  it  aside 
a  space.  Then  leaning,  he  stared  out  at  the  sobbing 
child  descending  the  steps. 

When  he  turned  his  face  was  a  dead  white.     His 

look  questioned  Clare  in  agony.    "  Who That 

— that — your  niece?  "  he  stammered. 

"  She's  my  sister's  little  girl,"  answered  Clare, 
almost  glibly.  She  was  recovering  her  composure, 
now  that  Barbara  was  out  of  the  house. 

"  A-a-ah !  "  Wallace  took  out  a  handkerchief 
and  wiped  at  his  face.  Then  without  looking  at 
Clare,  "  Isn't  there  something  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  No.  No,  thank  you.  I've  got  relatives  here 
with  me.  I'm  all  right."  She  took  a  chair  by  the 
table,  and  began  to  play  with  the  mirror,  by  turns 
blowing  on  it,  and  polishing  it  against  the  folds  of 
her  dress. 

He  watched  her  in  silence  for  a  moment.  It  was 
plain  that  she  was  anxious  to  detain  them  until  she 
felt  certain  that  the  child  had  left  the  block  and  was 
out  of  sight.  He  helped  her  plan.  Standing  be- 
tween them,  Balcome  vaguely  sensed  that  they  had 


144  Apron-Strings 

an  understanding  and  resented  it.  His  under  lip 
pushed  out  belligerently. 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  know  if  there  is  anything," 
said  the  younger  man,  his  tone  conventionally  polite. 

"  Yes.  ril— I'll  write.''  She  controlled  a  sar- 
castic smile. 

"In  care  of  the  Rectory,"  he  directed.  "Will 
you?  I  want  to  help  you  in  any  way  I  can.  I 
mean  it." 

Now  Clare  rose.  "  Good-by,"  she  said  pleas- 
antly. "  I'm  sorry  I  rushed  out  the  way  I  did 
today.  But — you  understand."  She  extended  a 
hand. 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered,  scarcely  touching  the 
tips  of  her  fingers.     "  Yes." 

"  I  wish  you  the  best  of  luck."  She  bowed,  and 
again  to  Balcome. 

Balcome  returned  the  bow  sulkily.  And  turning 
his  back  as  if  to  leave,  gave  a  quick  glance  round 
in  time  to  see  her  make  the  other  a  warning  sign. 

At  this  juncture,  the  hall  door  swung  wide,  and 
Tottie  appeared,  head  high  with  suppressed  excite- 
ment, and  face  alive  with  curiosity.  "  Here's  an- 
other caller.  Miss  Crosby,"  she  announced.  At  her 
back  was  Sue. 


Apron-Strings  145 

Clare  retreated,  frowning. 

Sue,  breathless  from  hurrying,  and  embarrassed, 
halted,  panting  and  smiling,  in  the  doorway.  "  Oh, 
dear!  This  dress  never  was  meant  for  anything 
faster  than  a  wedding-march!" — this  with  that 
characteristic  look — the  look  of  a  child  discovered 
in  naughtiness,  and  entreating  forgiveness. 

"  Say,  ain't  you  pop'lar ! "  broke  in  Tottie,  shak- 
ing her  head  at  Clare  in  playful  envy.  And  to  Sue, 
"  Y*  know,  all  my  theatrical  friends  're  just  crazy 
about  her.     They'll  hate  to  see  her  go." 

"  Go  ?  "  repeated  Sue,  sobering. 

"Tottie!"  cried  Clare,  angrily.  "Please! 
Never  mind ! "  Peremptorily  she  pointed  her  to 
leave. 

Tottie,  having  accomplished  her  purpose,  grinned 
a  good-natured  assent.  "  All  right,  dearie," — once 
more  she  was  playing  the  fine  lady,  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  this  new  arrival  so  well  worth  impressing. 
"  I  call  this  my  rehearsal  room,"  she  informed,  with 
a  polite  titter.  "Pretty  idea,  ain't  it?  Well,"— 
with  a  sweeping  bow  all  around — "  make  yourselves 
to  home."  She  went  out,  one  jeweled  hand  raised 
ostentatiously  to  her  back  hair. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause;  then  Sue  held  out 


146  Apron-Strings 

an  impulsive  hand  to  the  younger  woman.  "  Oh, 
you're  not  going  to  leave  without  seeing  him,"  she 
implored. 

"  Who  do  you  mean  ?  " — sullenly. 

"  Alan  Farvel.'' 

Clare's  eyes  flashed.  "  Does  he  know  you 
came  ?  " 

"  No." 

Clare  turned  to  Wallace.  "  Does  your  sister 
know  my  real  name  ?  "  she  asked. 

His  pale  face  worked  in  a  spasm.  He  coughed 
and  swallowed.     "  N-n-no,"  he  stammered. 

"  Now — just — wait — a — minute !  "  It  was  Bal- 
come.  He  approached  near  enough  to  Wallace  to 
slap  him  smartly  on  the  shoulder  with  the  hat. 
"  You— told— me " 

"What  does  it  matter?"  argued  the  other. 
"  One  name's  as  good  as  another." 

Balcome  said  no  more.  But  he  exchanged  a  look 
with  Sue. 

She  glanced  from  Clare  to  Wallace,  puzzled  and 
troubled.  Then,  "  I — I — don't  know  what  this  is 
all  about,"  she  ventured,  "and  I  don't  want  to 
know.  I  jufet  want  to  tell  you.  Miss  Crosby,  that — 
that  he  grieves  for  you — terribly.     Oh,   see  him 


Apron-Strings  147 

again!  Forgive  him  if  he's  done  anything!  Give 
him  another  chance !  " 

"  You're  talking  about  something  you  don't 
understand,"  answered  Clare,  rudely. 

Sue  shook  her  head.  "  Well,  I  think  I  know  a 
broken  heart  when  I  see  one,"  she  returned 
simply. 

To  that,  Clare  made  no  reply.  "These  gentle- 
men are  going,"  she  said.  "  And  I  wish  you'd  go 
too." 

"  Then  I  can't  help  him — and  you  ?  " 

In  sudden  rage,  Clare  came  toward  her,  voice 
raised  almost  to  a  shout.  "  Help !  Help !  Help !  " 
she  mocked.  "  I  don't  want  help !  I  want  to  be 
let  alone! — And  I  can't  waste  any  more  time. 
You'll  have  to  excuse  me ! "  She  faced  about 
abruptly  and  disappeared  into  her  own  room, 
banging  the  door. 

Sue  lowered  her  head,  and  knitted  her  brows  in 
a  look  of  defeat  that  was  almost  comical.  "  Well," 
she  observed  presently,  "  as  Ikey  says,  *  Always  you 
can't  do  it.'  " 

Seeing  the  way  clear  for  himself,  her  brother's 
attitude  became  more  sure.  "  I'm  afraid  you've 
only  made  things  worse,"  he  declared. 


148  Apron-Strings 

Balcome  flapped  his  hat.  "  We  had  her  in  pretty 
good  temper — for  a  woman." 

Thus  championed,  the  younger  man  grew  even 
bolder.  "And  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
keep  out  of  this,"  he  went  on;  "you  promised 
mother " 

Now  of  a  sudden,  Sue  lost  that  manner  at  once 
apologetic  and  childlike.  "  When  did  you  know 
Miss  Crosby?"  she  demanded  of  Wallace,  sharply. 
"  How  long  ago  ?  " 

"  The  year  I  met  Alan. — I  was  eighteen." 

"  And  you  didn't  have  anything  to  do  with  this 
trouble  ?     You're  not  responsible  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  Now  why  are  you  coming  at  me  ?  "  expostulated 
her  brother.  There  was  an  unpleasant  whine  in  his 
voice. 

But  Balcome  failed  to  note  it.  "  By  golly! "  he 
complained.     "  Women  are  all  alike !  " 

"  Fm  coming  at  you,"  explained  Sue,  "  because 
I  know  Alan  Farvel.  And  I  don't  believe  he  could 
do  any  woman  such  a  hurt  that  she  wouldn't 
want  to  see  him  again,  or  forgive  him.  That's 
why." 

"  But  you  think  I  could !  I  must  say,  you're  a 
nice  sister ! " 


Apron-Strings  149 

''  I  must  say  that  your  whole  attitude  today  has 
been  curious,  to  put  it  mildly." 

"  If  I  don't  satisfy  your  woman's  curiosity,  you 
get  even  by  putting  me  in  the  wrong."  Again  there 
was  that  unpleasant  whine. 

"  No.  But  Mr.  Farvel  was  relieved  when  he 
thought  you  had  told  me  about  this  matter.  And 
the  fact  is,  you  haven't  told  me  at  all.'* 

He  was  cornered.  His  tall  figure  sagged.  And 
his  eyes  fell  before  his  sister's.  "  I — I,"  he  began. 
Then  in  an  outburst,  "  It's  Hattie  I'm  thinking  of ! 
Hattie!'* 

''  Ah,  as  if  /  don't  think  of  Hattie !  "  Sue's  voice 
trembled.  *'  I  want  to  think  you've  had  nothing  to 
do  with  this.  I  couldn't  bear  it  if  anything  hurt 
her — ^her  happiness — with  you." 

Outside,  the  stairs  creaked  heavily.  Then 
sounded  a  hang,  hang,  as  of  some  heavy  thing 
falling.  Next  came  Tottie's  voice,  shrill,  and 
strangely  triumphant :  "  Hey  there !  You're  tryin' 
to  sneak!  Yes,  you  are!  And  you  haven't  paid 
me!" 

Sue  understood.  She  opened  the  hall  door,  and 
took  her  place  beside  Clare  as  if  to  defend  her.  The 
latter  could  not  speak,  but  stood,  a  pathetic  figure, 


150  Apron-Strings 

holding  to  a  suitcase  with  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  carrying  the  bird-cage. 

"  Get  back  in  there ! "  ordered  Tottie,  beginning 
to  descend  from  the  upper  landing. 

Clare  obeyed,  Sue  helping  her  with  the  suitcase. 
"  I'll  send  the  money,"  she  pleaded.  '*  I — I  meant 
to.     Oh,  Tottie !  " 

Tottie  was  down  by  now,  scowling  and  nursing 
a  foot,  for  she  had  slipped.  She  made  "  shooing  " 
gestures  at  Clare. 

"  How  much  does  Miss  Crosby  owe  you  ? " 
asked  Sue,  getting  between  Clare  and  the  landlady. 

"  Sixteen  dollars — and  some  telephone  calls." 

"  Let  me "    It  was  Wallace.    He  ran  a  hand 

into  a  pocket. 

Sue  warned  him  with  a  look.  "  Mr.  Balcome 
will  lend  it,"  she  said. 

Balcome  did  not  wait  to  be  asked.  From  an 
inside  coat  pocket  he  produced  a  black  wallet  fat 
with  bills,  and  pulled  away  the  rubber  band  that 
circled  it. 

Tottie  viewed  the  wallet  with  greedy  eyes. 
"And  there's  some  laundry,"  she  supplemented; 
"  and  Mrs.  Colter's  lunch  today — ^just  before  you 
come  in,  Clare, — and  Barbara's." 


Apron-Strings  151 

Clare  implored  her  to  stop  by  a  gesture. 
"Twenty,"  she  said  to  Balcome.  **  I'll  pay  it 
back." 

Sue  took  the  bills  that  Balcome  held  out,  and 
gave  them  to  Tottie.  "  Keep  the  change,"  she 
suggested,  anxious  to  get  the  woman  away. 

Tottie  recovered  her  best  air.  '*  Wouldn't  men- 
tion such  small  items,"  she  explained,  "  but  it's  been 
a  bad  season,  and  I  haven't  had  one  engagement — 
not  one.     As  I  say, " 

"  Don't  apologize.  I  can  tell  a  generous  woman 
when  I  see  one."     This  with  a  hearty  smile. 

Tottie  simpered,  shoved  the  money  under  the  lace 
of  her  bodice,  and  backed  out — as  a  bell  began  to 
ring  somewhere  persistently. 

Clare  had  set  down  the  suitcase  and  the  cage. 
As  Sue  closed  the  door  and  turned  to  her,  the  sight 
of  that  lowered  head  and  bent  shoulders  brought 
the  tears  to  her  eyes.  "  You  want  to  get  away  ? " 
she  asked  gently;  "you  want  to  be  lost  again?" 

The  other  straightened.  "What  if  I  do!"  she 
cried,  angrily.  "It's  my  own  business,  isn't  it? 
Why  don't  you  mind  yours  ?  " 

"  Now  look  here ! "  put  in  Balcome,  advancing 
to  stand  between  the  two.     "You  ought  to  be 


152  Apron-Strings 

ashamed  of  yourself!     Miss  Milo  came  with  the 
kindest  intentions  in  the  world " 


"No,  no,"  pleaded  Sue.  And  to  Clare,  "I'm 
going.  I  haven't  wanted  to  make  you  unhappy. 
And,  oh,  if  you're  alone " 

"  Rot ! "  interrupted  Balcome,  impatiently. 
"  She's  got  relatives  right  here  in  the  house." 
He  shuffled  his  feet  and  swung  his  hat. 

"I  have  not!" 

Balcome  puffed  his  cheeks  with  astonishment  and 
anger,  and  appealed  to  Wallace.  "  Didn't  she  say 
so?"  he  demanded.  "And  that  child  called  her 
Aunt  Clare." 

«  A— child,"  repeated  Sue,  slowly.    "  A— child?  " 

"  My — my  brother's  little  girl." 

"A-a-a-ah!"  taunted  Balcome.  "And  ten 
minutes  ago,  it  was  her  sister's  little  girl."  He 
laughed. 

"  My  sister-in-/aw/ " — she  fairly  screamed  at  him. 
"  Oh,  I  wish  you'd  go — all  of  you !  How  dare  you 
shove  your  way  in  here!  Haven't  I  suffered 
enough?  And  you  hunt  me  down!  And  torture 
me!  Torture  me!"  Wildly,  she  made  as  if  to 
drive  them  out,  pushing  Sue  from  her;  gasping  and 
sobbing. 


Apron-Strings  153 

*' Wallace !— Mr.  Balcome!"  Backing  out  of 
Clare's  reach,  Sue  took  the  two  men  with  her. 

"  Go ! — Go ! — Go !  "  It  was  hysteria,  or  a  very 
fair  imitation  of  it. 

Then  of  a  sudden,  while  her  arms  were  yet 
upraised,  she  looked  past  the  three  who  were  re- 
treating and  through  the  door  now  opening  at  their 
back.  Another  trio  was  in  the  hall — Tottie,  im- 
portant and  smiling;  Mrs.  Milo,  elbowing  her  way 
ahead  of  the  landlady  to  hear  and  see;  and  with 
her,  Farvel,  grave,  concerned,  wondering. 

"  More  visitors !  "  hailed  Tottie. 

"  Susan,  I  distinctly  told  you " 

Clare's  look  fastened  on  Farvel.  She  went  back 
a  few  steps  unsteadily,  until  the  door  to  her  own 
room  stopped  her.  There  she  hung,  as  it  were, 
pallid  and  open-mouthed. 

And  Farvel  made  no  sound.  He  came  past  the 
others  until  he  stood  directly  in  front  of  the  droop- 
ing, suffering  creature  against  the  panels.  His  look 
was  the  look  of  a  man  who  sees  a  ghost. 

Wallace,  with  quick  foresight,  had  closed  the  hall 
door  against  Tottie.  But  the  others  had  no  thought 
except  for  the  meeting  between  Farvel  and  Clare. 
Mrs.  Milo,  quite  within  the  embrasure  of  the  bay- 


154  Apron-Strings 

window,  looked  on  like  a  person  at  an  entertain- 
ment. Her  glance,  plainly  one  of  delight,  now 
darted  from  Farvel  to  Clare,  from  Clare  to  Sue. 

With  Balcome  it  was  curiosity  mixed  with  hope 
— the  hope  that  here  was  what  would  completely 
absolve  Wallace,  who  was  waiting,  all  bent  and 
shaken. 

Sue  stood  with  averted  eyes,  as  if  she  felt  she 
should  not  see.  Her  face  was  composed.  There 
was  something  very  like  resignation  in  the  straight 
hanging  down  of  her  arms,  in  the  bowed  attitude 
of  her  figure. 

Thus  the  six  for  a  moment.  Then  Farvel 
crumpled  and  dropped  to  the  settee.  "Laura!" 
he  said,  as  if  to  himself;  "  Laura!  " 

"  Oh,  it's  all  over !    It's  all  over !  "  she  quavered. 


CHAPTER  VII 

On  those  rare  occasions  of  stress  when  Mrs.  Mile 
did  not  choose  to  feel  that  the  unforeseen  and  un- 
pleasant was  aimed  purposely  at  herself  and  her 
happiness,  she  could  assume  another  attitude.  It 
was  then  her  special  boast  that  she  was  able 
invariably  to  summon  the  proper  word  that  could 
smooth  away  embarrassments,  lessen  strain,  and  in 
general  relieve  any  situation:  she  knew  how  to  be 
tactful;  how  to  make  peace:  she  had,  she  explained, 
that  rare  quality  known  as  "  poise." 

Now  with  Clare  Crosby  swagging  against  the 
double  door  of  Tottie's  back-parlor,  watching 
Farvel  through  despairing  eyes,  and  admitting  with 
trembling  lips  her  own  defeat;  with  Farvel  seem- 
ingly overcome  by  being  brought  thus  suddenly  face 
to  face  with  the  soloist,  Mrs.  Milo  experienced  such 
complete  satisfaction  that  she  seized  upon  this  op- 
portunity as  one  well  calculated  to  exhibit  strikingly 
her  judgment,  balance,  and  sagacity;  her  good  taste 
and  pious  gentleness. 

ISS 


1^6  Apron-Strings 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Farvel ! "  she  cried,  in  that  playfully 
teasing  tone  she  was  often  pleased  to  affect. 
"  Aren't  you  glad  you  came  ? — Oh,  I  guessed  your 
little  secret  I  I  guessed  you  were  interested  in  Miss 
Crosby!" 

At  the  sound  of  her  own  name,  Clare  took  her 
eyes  from  Farvel  and  turned  them  upon  Mrs.  Milo 
— turned  them  slowly,  as  a  sick  person  might — 
with  effort,  and  an  almost  feeble  lifting  of  the 
head.  Her  look  once  focused,  she  began,  little  by 
little,  to  straighten,  to  stand  more  firmly  on 
her  feet;  she  even  reached  to  flatten  the  starched 
collar,  which  had  upreared  behind  her  slender 
throat. 

Mrs.  Milo  went  twittering  on:  "Where  you're 
concerned,  trust  us  to  be  anxious,  dear  Mr.  Farvel. 
That's  how  we  came  to  guess.  Isn't  it,  my 
daughter  ?  " 

Sue  did  not  move.  "  Yes,  mother,"  she  an- 
swered obediently;  "yes." 

Farvel  got  up.  "  Mrs.  Milo,"  he  began,  "  I  in- 
tend to  be  quite  frank  with  you  all.  And  I  feel 
I  ought  to  tell  you  that  this  young  woman " 

"Alan!" 

It  was  Clare  who  protested,  almost  in  a  scream, 


Apron-Strings  157 

and  with  a  forward  start  which  Wallace  also  made 
— involuntarily. 

Farvel  shook  his  head  and  threw  out  both  hands 
in  a  helpless  gesture.  ''  They'd  better  hear  all 
about  it,"  he  said. 

"  You  listen  to  me !  '*  she  returned.  "  This  is 
nobody's  business  but  ours.  Do  you  understand? 
Just  ours/' 

Mrs.  Milo  interrupted,  with  an  ingratiating  smile. 
"  Still,  Mr.  Farvel  is  the  Rector  of  our  Church. 
Naturally,  he  wishes  to  be  quite  above-board  '* — 
she  laid  emphasis  on  the  words — '*  even  in  his  per- 
sonal affairs." 

"  No ! "  Clare  came  past  Farvel,  taking  her 
stand  between  him  and  Mrs.  Milo  almost  de- 
fensively. "No,  I  tell  you!  No!  No! 
No!" 

Sue  went  to  her  mother.  "  Miss  Crosby  is 
right,"  she  urged  quietly.  "  This  is  a  private  matter 
between  her  and  Mr.  Farvel.  It  goes  back  quite  a 
way  in  their  lives,  doesn't  it  ?  "  She  turned  to  the 
clergyman.  "  Before  you  came  to  the  Rectory, 
and  before  mother  and  I  knew  you?  So  it  can't 
be  anything  that  concerns  us,  and  we  haven't  any 
right  to  know  " — this  as  Mrs.  Milo  seemed  about 


158  Apron-Strings 

to  protest  again.  **  I'm  right,  mother.  And  we're 
going — both  of  us." 

"  We-e-e-11," — it  was  Farvel,  uncertain,  and 
troubled. 

"Alan,  not  now,"  broke  in  Wallace;  " — later." 

"  May  /  have  another  word  ? "  inquired  Mrs. 
Milo,  with  an  inflection  that  said  she  had  so  far 
been  utterly  excluded  from  voicing  her  opinions. 
"  Mr.  Farvel, " 

But  Clare  did  not  wait  for  the  clergyman  to  give 
his  permission.  "  I  say  no,"  she  repeated  defiantly. 
And  to  Farvel,  "  Please  consider  me,  will  you  ?  Fm 
not  going  to  have  a  lot  of  hypocrites  gossiping  about 
me !  " — this  with  a  pointed  stare  at  the  elder  woman. 

"  And,  Alan,  you  said  yourself," — it  was  Wallace 
again — "there'll  be  talk.     You  don't  want  that." 

Balcome,  standing  behind  Wallace,  suddenly  laid 
a  hand  on  his  arm.  "  Say,  what's  your  part  in  this 
trouble  ?  "  he  demanded.     "  You  seem  excited." 

"  Why — why — I  haven't  any  part." 

Balcome  shrugged,  and  flopped  the  big  hat.  "  Not 
any,  eh  ?  "  he  said.  "  Hm !  "  By  a  lift  of  his  eye- 
brows, and  a  jerk  of  the  head,  he  invited  Farvel 
to  take  a  good  look  at  Wallace. 

Farvel  seemed  suddenly  to  waken.     He  shook  a 


Apron-Strings  159 

pointed  finger.  "  You  knew  she  was  alive !  "  he 
declared. 

"He  didn't!  He  did  not!"  Again  Clare  was 
fiercely  on  the  defense. 

"  No !     On  my  honor !  "  vowed  Wallace. 

Sue  made  a  warning  gesture.  "  Listen,  every- 
body," she  cautioned.  "  Suppose  we  go  back  to 
the  Rectory."  And  to  Clare,  "  You  and  Mr.  Far- 
vel  can  talk  with  more  privacy  there." 

A  quick  hand  touched  her.  "  Susan,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Milo. 

She  had  support  in  her  protest.  "  Fm  not  going 
back  to  any  Rectory,"  Clare  asserted. 

"  Back  ?  "  repeated  Farvel,  astonished.  "  Back? 
Then  you — you  were  the  soloist  ?  " 

"  Yes. — Oh,  why  did  I  go !  Why  didn't  I  ever 
find  out!  Milo — it  isn't  a  common  name.  And  I 
might  have  known!  I'm  a  fool!  A  fool!  Bat  I 
needed  the  engagement.  And  I'd  been  there  before, 
and  I  thought  it  was  all  right." 

"What  has  'Milo'  to  do  with  it?"  asked  Sue. 

"This — this:  I  knew  that  Wallace  knew  Alan. 
So — so  when  I  saw  Wallace  there,  I  was  sure 
Alan  was  there.  And  I  left.  That's  all."  She 
went  back  to  the  chair  by  the  table  and  sat. 


i6o  Apron-Strings 

"  You  walked  right  into  my  house ! "  marveled 
Farvel;  " — after  all  the  years  I've  searched  for 
you!" 

"  Ha !  ha ! — Just  my  luck ! ''  She  crossed  her  feet 
and  folded  her  arms. 

There  was  a  pause. 

Wallace  was  plainly  in  misery,  at  times  holding 
his  breath,  again  almost  blowing,  like  a  man  after 
a  run.  He  shifted  uneasily»  The  sweat  stood  out 
on  his  white  temples,  and  he  brushed  the  drops 
into  his  hair. 

Of  a  sudden,  Farvel  turned  to  him.  "  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  it  was  Laura  ?  "  he  demanded. 
"  You  saw  her  there — you  came  here — why  didn't 
you  ask  me  to  come  ?  " 

"  Well,"  faltered  Wallace,  "  I— I  don't  know  why 

I  didn't.     I'm  sorry.     It  was  just — just "    His 

voice  seemed  to  go  from  him.     He  swallowed. 

Now,  Farvel's  manner  changed.  His  face  dark- 
ened, and  grew  stern.  "  There's  something  here 
that  I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  angrily. 

Clare  sprang  up.  "  Oh,  drop  it,  will  you  ?  "  she 
asked  rudely;  " — before  all  this  crowd." 

Farvel  turned  on  her  fiercely.  "  No,  I  won't 
drop  it!     I  want  this  thing  cleared  up!"    And  to 


Apron-Strings  i6i 

Wallace  again,  "  For  ten  years  you  know  how  I've 
searched.  And  in  the  beginning,  you  know  better 
than  anyone  else  in  the  whole  world  how  I  suf- 
fered. And  yet  today,  when  you  found  Laura,  you 
failed  to  tell  me — me,  of  all  persons!  "  His  voice 
rose  to  a  shout.     "  Why,  it's  monstrous !  *' 

"  And  I  want  this  thing  cleared  up,  too,"  put  in 
Balcome.  "  Wallace,  you're  going  to  marry  my 
daughter.  Why  did  you  lie  to  me  about  this  young 
woman's  name?  '* 

Mrs.  Milo  went  to  take  her  place  beside  her  son. 
"  Do  you  mean,"  she  demanded,  "  that  you're  both 
trying  to  find  my  dear  boy  at  fault? — to  cover 
someone  else's  wrongdoing."  She  stared  at  Farvel 
defiantly. 

"  Please,  mother !  "  Wallace  pushed  her  not  too 
gently  aside.  Then  he  faced  the  other  men,  his 
features  working  with  the  effort  of  control. 
'*  Well,  it — it  was  for — for  Miss  Crosby's  sake,"  he 
explained.  "  I  knew  she  didn't  want  to  be  found 
— I  knew  it  because  she  was  so  scared  when  she 
saw  me,  and  ran.  And — and  then  Hattie;  you 
know  Hattie's  never  cared  an  awful  lot  for  me. 
And  I  was  afraid — I  was  afraid  she  might — she 
might  wonder "     He  choked. 


i62  Apron-Strings 

''  Hattie"  repeated  Balcome. 

A  strange  look  came  into  Farvel's  eyes.  "  What 
has  Miss  Balcome  to  do  with  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing !  Nothing !  " — it  was  Clare.  She 
gave  Wallace  a  warning  glance. 

"  I  thought  it  might  worry  her,"  he  added, 
weakly. 

Farvel  seemed  to  sense  a  falsehood.  "  You  can't 
convince  me,"  he  said.  "  You've  known  the  truth 
all  along — ever  since  she  went  away.  And  you 
know  why  she  went. — Don't  you  ?  Don't  you  ?  " 
Again  his  voice  rose.  He  advanced  almost 
threateningly. 

"No!     No!     I  swear  it!" 

"No!  "echoed  Clare. 

"  This  is  disgraceful !  "  cried  Mrs.  Milo,  appeal- 
ing to  Balcome. 

"  Oh,  go  home,  mother ! "  entreated  her  son, 
ungratefully. 

Sue  added  her  plea.  *'  Yes,  let's  all  go.  Because 
you're  all  speaking  pretty  loud,  and  our  hostess  is 
a  lady  of  considerable  curiosity.  Come — let's  re- 
turn to  the  Rectory." 

"  Susan ! "  stormed  Mrs.  Milo.  Then,  more 
quietly,   "  Please  think  of  your  mother's  wishes. 


Apron-Strings  163 

Mr.  Farvel  and  Mr.  Balcome  are  right.  Let  us 
clear  up  this  matter  before  we  return." 

Clare  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  "  Ha-a-a !  Talk 
about  curiosity  1"  she  mocked.  And  went  back  to 
her  chair. 

Sue  reddened  under  the  taunt.  "Well,  I,  for 
one,  don't  wish  to  know  your  private  affairs,"  she 
declared.    "  So  Fm  going." 

"  Susan ! — You  may  leave  the  room  if  you  desire 
to  do  so.     But  you  will  remain  within  call." 

**  I'd  rather  go  home,  mother." 

"  You  will  obey  me." 

"  Very  well." 

"  Mm !  "  Mrs.  Milo,  plainly  gratified,  seated 
herself  in  the  rocker. 

"  If  there's  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Miss 
Crosby,  just  ask  me."  Sue  forbore  looking  at 
Farvel.  She  was  pale  again  now,  as  if  with 
weariness.     But  she  smiled. 

Clare  did  not  even  look  round.  Beside  her  was 
the  canary,  his  shining  black  eyes  keeping  watch 
on  the  group  of  strangers  as  he  darted  from  cage 
bottom  to  perch,  or  hung,  fluttering  and  appre- 
hensive, against  the  wires  of  his  home.  Clare  lifted 
the  cage  to  her  knee  and  encircled  it  with  an  arm. 


164  Apron-Strings 

Balcome  caught  Sue's  eye,  made  a  comical 
grimace,  and  patted  her  on  the  arm.  "As  this 
seems  to  concern  my  girl/'  he  explained,  "  I'm  here 
to  stay."     He  dropped  into  a  chair  by  the  hearth. 

Sue  went  out. 

Clare  was  quite  herself  by  now.  She  disdained 
to  look  at  anyone  save  Farvel,  and  the  smile  she 
gave  him  over  a  shoulder  was  scornful.  "  Well, 
shoot!  "  she  challenged.     "  Let's  not  take  all  day." 

"  Why  did  you  leave  without  a  word  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  You  mean  today  ? — I  told  you." 

"  I  mean  ten  years  ago." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  know,  I  was  tired  of  being 
cooped  up,  so  I  dug  out." 

"  Cooped  up !  "  exclaimed  Farvel,  bitterly. 

"  I  guess  you  know  it !  And  Church !  Church ! 
Church!  And  prayers  three  times  a  day!  And  a 
small  town!     Oh,  it  was  deadly!" 

"  No  other  reason  ?  "  asked  Farvel,  coldly. 

She  got  up,  suddenly  impatient.  "  I've  told  you 
the  truth !  "  she  cried.  Then  more  quietly,  seeing 
how  white  and  drawn  he  looked,  '*  I'm  sorry  it 
worried  you."  She  set  the  cage  on  a  chair  near 
the  double  door. 


Apron-Strings  165 

"Worried!"  echoed  Farvel,  bitterly.  "Ha! 
ha !  "  And  with  significance,  ''  And  who  was  con- 
cerned in  your  going?'* 

"  That's  a  nice  thing  for  you  to  insinuate! "  she 
returned  hotly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

Mrs.  Milo  fell  to  rocking  nervously.  She  was 
enjoying  the  situation  to  the  full;  still — the  attitude 
of  Farvel  toward  this  young  woman  was  far  from 
lover-like;  while  her  attitude  toward  him  was 
marked  by  hatred  badly  disguised.  Hence  an  un- 
pleasant and  unwelcome  thought:  What  if  this 
**  Laura  "  turned  out  to  be  only  a  relative  of  the 
clergyman's ! 

Farvel's  apology  moved  Clare  to  laughter.  "  Oh, 
that's  all  right,"  she  assured  him,  impudently;  "  I 
understand.  The  more  religious  people  are,  you 
know,  the  more  vile  are  their  suspicions  " — this  with 
a  mocking  glance  at  Mrs.  Milo. 

The  green  velour  rocker  suddenly  stood  still, 
and  Mrs.  Milo  fairly  glared  at  the  girl.  Clare, 
seeing  that  she  had  gained  the  result  she  sought, 
grinned  with  satisfaction,  and  resumed  her 
chair. 

Farvel  had  not  noticed  what  passed  between  the 


i66  Apron-Strings 

two  women.  He  was  watching  Wallace.  "And 
you "  he  began  presently. 

The  younger  man  straightened,  writhed  within 
his  clothes  as  if  he  were  in  pain,  and  went  back 
to  his  stooping  position  once  more — all  with  that 
swiftness  which  was  so  like  the  effect  of  an  elec- 
trical current.     "  Alan,"  he  whispered. 

" — What  had  you  to  do  with  it  ?  "  went  on  the 
clergyman. 

Clare  scoffed.  "  Wallace  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it,"  she  declared.  "  What  in  the  dickens  is  the 
matter  with  you  ?  " 

**  Nothing  to  do  with  it?"  repeated  Farvel. 
Then,  with  sudden  fury,  "  Look  at  him !  "  He 
made  for  Wallace,  pushing  aside  a  chair  that  was 
not  in  his  way. 

"Alan!  Stop!"  Clare  rose,  and  Mrs.  Mile 
rose,  too. 

"  Come  now,  Wallace,"  Farvel  said  more  quietly. 
"  I  want  the  truth." 

Mrs.  Milo  hastened  to  her  son.  "  Darling,  I 
know  you  haven't  done  anything  wrong,"  she  said, 
tenderly.  "  This  *  friend '  is  trying  to  shift  the 
blame.  Stand  up  for  yourself,  my  boy.  Mother 
believes  in  you." 


Apron-Strings  167 

Wallace's  chin  sank  to  his  breast.  At  the  end  of 
his  long  arms,  his  hands  knotted  and  unknotted  like 
the  hands  of  a  man  in  agony. 

"  My  dearest !  "  comforted  his  mother.  His  suf- 
fering was  evidence  of  guilt  to  Balcome  and  Farvel; 
to  her  it  was  grief,  at  having  been  put  under  unjust 
suspicion. 

He  lifted  a  white  face.  His  eyes  were  streaming 
now,  his  whole  body  trembling  pitifully.  "  Oh, 
what'll  I  do!"  he  cried.  "  What'll  I  do!"  He 
tottered  to  the  chair  that  Farvel  had  shoved  aside, 
dropped  into  it,  and  covered  his  face  with  both 
hands. 

"My  boy!     My  boy!" 

"  Don't  act  like  a  baby ! "  Clare  came  to  him, 
and  gave  him  a  smart  slap  on  the  shoulder.  "  Cut 
it  out !     You  haven't  done  anything." 

"  Just  a  moment,"  interrupted  Farvel.  He  shoved 
her  out  of  the  way  as  impersonally  as  he  had  the 
chair.  Then,  "What  do  you  mean  by  'What'll 
do'?"  he  demanded.  And  to  Clare,  pulling 
at  his  arm,  "Let  me  alone,  I  tell  you.  I'm 
going  to  know  what's  back  of  this! — Wallace 
Milor 

Slowly  Wallace  got  up.     His  cheeks  were  wet. 


1 68  Apron- Strings 

His  mouth  was  distorted,  like  the  mouth  of  a  woe- 
ful small  boy.  His  throat  worked  spasmodically,  so 
that  the  cords  stood  out  above  his  collar. 

Clare  defended  him  fiercely.  "  What've  you  got 
into  your  head  ? "  she  asked  Farvel.  "  You're 
wrong!  You're  dead  wrong! — Wallace,  tell  him 
he's  wrong!" 

Wallace  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  said,  striv- 
ing to  speak  evenly;  "  no,  I  won't.  All  these  years 
I've  suffered,  too.  I've  wanted  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it  a  million  times — to  get  it  off  my  con- 
science. Now,  I  can.  I " — he  braced  himself  to 
go  on — "  I  was  at  the  Rectory  so  much,  Alan.  I 
think  that's  how — it  started.  And — and  she  was 
nice  to  me,  and  I — I  liked  her.  And  we  were  al- 
most the  same  age.     So "     He  could  go  no 

further.  With  a  gesture  of  agonized  appeal,  he 
sank  to  his  knees.  ''Oh,  Alan,  forgive  me!"  he 
sobbed.     "  Forgive " 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  his  meaning — of  the 
character  of  his  confession.  Farvel  bent  over  him, 
seizing  an  arm.  "  Get  on  your  feet !  "  he  shouted. 
"  Get  up !  Get  up,  I  tell  you !  I'm  going  to  knock 
you  down !  " 

"Oh,  help!     Help!"  wept  Mrs.  Milo,  appeal- 


Apron-Strings  169 

ing   to    Balcome,    who    came    forward    promptly. 

"  Farvel !  "  he  admonished.  He  got  between  the 
two  men. 

Clare  was  dragging  at  Farvel.  "  Blame  me !  ** 
she  cried.     "  I  was  older !     Blame  me !  " 

Farvel  pushed  her  aside.  "  Don't  try  to  shield 
him !  "  he  answered.     ''  He's  a  dog !     A  dog !  " 

A  loud  voice  sounded  from  the  hall.  It  was 
Tottie,  storming  virtuously.  "  I  won't  have 
it ! "  she  cried.  "  This  is  my  house,  and  I  won't 
have  it ! " 

Another  voice  pleaded  with  her — "  Now  wait ! 
Please!" 

"  I'm  goin'  in  there,"  asserted  the  landlady.  She 
came  pounding  against  the  hall  door,  opened  it,  and 
entered,  her  bobbed  hair  lifting  and  falling  with  the 
rush  of  her  coming.  "  Say !  What  do  you  call 
this,  anyhow  ? "  she  demanded,  shaking  off  the 
hand  with  which  Sue  was  attempting  to  restrain 
her. 

"  Keep  out  of  here,"  ordered  Balcome,  advancing 
upon  her  boldly. 

She  met  him  without  flinching.  "  I  won't  have 
no  knock-down  and  drag-out  in  my  house !  "  she 
declared.     "  This  is  a  respectable " 


lyo  Apron-Strings 

*'  Oh,  I'm  used  to  tantrums/'  he  retorted.  And 
without  more  ado,  he  forced  Miss  St.  Clair  back- 
ward into  the  hall,  followed  her,  and  shut  himself 
as  well  as  her  out  of  the  room. 

"  I'll  have  you  arrested  for  this ! "  she  shrilled. 

"Oh,  shut  up!" 

Their  voices  mingled,  and  became  less  audible. 

"  You  can't  blame  her,"  said  Sue.  "  Really,  from 
out  there,  it  sounded  suspiciously  like  murder." 
She  stared  at  her  brother.  He  was  not  kneeling 
now,  but  half-sitting,  half-lying,  in  an  awkward 
sprawl,  at  Farvel's  feet,  much  as  if  he  had  thrown 
himself  down  in  a  fit  of  temper. 

Farvel  turned  to  her.  His  face  was  set.  His 
eyes  were  dull,  as  if  a  glaze  was  spread  upon  them. 
His  hands  twitched.  But  he  spoke  quietly.  "  Get 
this  man  out  of  here,"  he  directed,  "  or  I  shall  kill 
him." 

"  Oh,  go !     Go !  "  pleaded  Mrs.  Milo. 

"  Go !  "  added  Clare.  She  threw  herself  into  the 
chair  at  the  table,  put  her  arms  on  the  cloth,  and 
her  face  in  her  arms. 

Sue  ran  to  Wallace,  took  his  arm  and  tugged 
at  it,  lifting  him.  He  stumbled  up,  still  weeping  a 
little,  but  weakly.     As  she  turned  him  toward  the 


Apron-Strings  171 

hall,  he  put  an  arm  across  her  shoulders  for 
support. 

Mrs.  Milo  followed  them.  She  was  not  in  the 
dark  as  to  the  nature  of  her  son's  tearful  admission. 
But  she  had  no  mind  to  blame  him.  Resorting  to 
her  accustomed  tactics,  she  put  Farvel  in  the  wrong. 
"  I  never  should  have  trusted  my  dear  boy  to  you," 
she  cried.  "  I  thought  he  would  be  under  good  in- 
fluences in  a  clergyman's  house.  Only  eighteen, 
and  you  make  him  responsible !  " 

The  door  opened,  and  Balcome  was  there.  He 
looked  at  Wallace  not  unkindly.  "  Pretty  tough 
luck,  young  man,"  he  observed. 

At  sight  of  Balcome,  Mrs.  Milo  remembered  the 
wedding.  "  Oh !  "  she  gasped.  And  turning  about 
to  Farvel  in  a  wild  appeal,  "  Oh,  Hattie !  Think  of 
poor  Hattie!  Won't  you  forget  yourself  in  this? 
Won't  you  help  us  to  keep  it  all  quiet?  Oh,  we 
mustn't  ruin  her  life !  "  She  returned  to  the  rocker, 
her  fingers  to  her  eyes,  as  if  she  were  pressing  back 
the  tears. 

Balcome  had  come  in,  closing  the  door.  He 
crossed  to  Farvel,  his  big,  blowzy  face  comical  in 
its  gravity.  "  Mr.  Farvel,"  he  said,  "  whatever 
concerns  that  young  man  concerns  my — little  girl." 


172  Apron-Strings 

He  blinked  with  emotion.  "  So — so  that's  why  I 
ask,  who  is  this  young  woman?  " 

Before  Farvel  could  reply,  Clare  lifted  her  head, 
stood  suddenly,  and  stared  Balcome  from  his  di- 
sheveled hair  to  his  wide,  soft,  well-worn  shoes. 
"Oh,  allow  me,  Alan!"  she  cried.  "You  know, 
they're  just  about  to  burst,  both  of  'em ! " — for 
Mrs.  Milo  was  peering  at  her  over  a  handkerchief, 
the  blue  eyes  bright  with  expectancy.  "If  they 
don't  know  the  worst  in  five  seconds,  there'll  be 
an  explosion  sure !  "  She  laughed  harshly.  Then 
with  mock  ceremony,  and  impudently,  "  Mr.  Bal- 
come,— and  dear  Mrs.  Milo,  permit  me  to  introduce 
myself.  I  am  your  charming  clergyman's  beloved 
bride."     She  curtsied. 

No  explosion  could  have  brought  Mrs.  Milo  to 
her  feet  with  more  celerity.  While  Balcome 
stumbled  backward,  the  red  of  his  countenance 
taking  on  an  apoplectic  greenish  tinge. 

'' Bride?  "htmtA. 

"  Wife?  "  gasped  Mrs.  Milo,  hollowly. 

But  almost  instantly  the  blue  eyes  lighted  with  a 
smile.  She  put  back  her  bonneted  head  to  regard 
Clare  from  under  lowered  lashes.  "  Ah ! "  she 
sighed   in  relief.     No  longer  was  there  need  to 


Apron-Strings  173 

fear  publicity  for  her  son ;  here  was  a  situation  that 
insured  against  it. 

"Yes,  you  feel  better,  don't  you?"  commiser- 
ated Clare,  sarcastically.     '' — Tuh !  '* 

Balcome  was  blinking  harder  than  ever.  "  Well, 
ril  be  damned !  "  he  vowed  under  his  breath. 

By  now  Mrs.  Milo's  smile  had  grown  into  a  clear, 
joyous,  well-modulated  laugh.  "  Oh,  ha !  ha !  ha ! 
ha!  ha!— Wife!"  she  exulted.  "That  is  most 
interesting!  Hm! — And  it  changes  everything, 
doesn't  it?  " — this  to  no  one  in  particular.  She  re- 
seated herself,  studying  the  floor  thoughtfully, 
finding  her  glasses  meanwhile,  and  tapping  a  finger 
with  them  gently.     "  Hm !— Ah !— Yes." 

Balcome  replied  to  her,  and  with  no  idea  of 
sparing  her  feelings.  "  Yes,  that  puts  quite  a  dif- 
ferent face  on  things,"  he  agreed;  " — on  what 
Wallace  has  done.  The  home  of  his  best 
friend!" 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  it !  "  begged  Farvel. 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Farvel,"  answered  Balcome, 
soothingly.  "  But  my  Hattie's  happiness — that's 
what  I'm  thinking  of."  He  came  nearer  to  Clare 
now.  "  And  before  I  go,"  he  said  to  her,  "  I'd  like 
to  ask  you  one  more  question/' 


174  Apron-Strings 

"  Oh,  you  would ! "  she  retorted  ironically. 
"  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  answer  any  more  ques- 
tions. I've  got  a  lot  to  do.  And  I  want  to  be 
let  alone."     She  made  as  if  to  go. 

"  Wait !  "  commanded  Farvel. 

She  flushed  angrily.  "Well?  Well?  Well?*' 
she  demanded,  her  voice  rising. 

"We  shan't  trouble  you  again,'*  assured  the 
clergyman,  more  kindly. 

"  Then  spit  it  out !  "  she  cried  to  Balcome. 

"  I  want  to  know,"  began  Balcome,  eyeing  her 
keenly,  "  just  whose  child  that  is  ?  " 

It  was  Farvel's  turn  to  gasp.  "  Child  ? "  he 
echoed. 

Mrs.  Milo  straightened  against  the  green  velours^ 
"  A  child  ?  "  she  said  in  turn. 

"  You  know  who  I  mean,"  declared  Balcome,  not 
taking  his  look  from  Clare.  "  That  little  girl  who 
called  you  Auntie." 

She  tried  to  speak  naturally.  "  That — that — 
she's  a  friend's  child — a  friend's  child  from  up- 
State." 

"  You  told  us  she  was  your  sister's  child,"  per- 
sisted Balcome. 

She  took  refuge  in  a  burst  of  temper.     "  Well, 


Apron-Strings  175 

what  if  I  did?  I'm  liable  to  say  anything — ^to 
you !  " 

There  was  a  pause.  Farvel  watched  Clare,  but 
she  looked  down,  not  trusting  herself  to  meet 
his  eyes.  As  for  Balcome,  he  had  reached  a  con- 
clusion that  did  not  augur  well  for  the  happi- 
ness of  his  daughter.  And  his  gaze  wandered 
miserably. 

Curiously  enough,  not  a  hint  occurred  to  Mrs. 
Milo  that  this  new  turn  of  affairs  might  have  some 
bearing  on  her  son.  She  found  "her  voice  first. 
"Ah,  Mr.  Balcome,*'  she  said  sadly,  nodding  as 
she  put  away  her  glasses,  "  it's  just  as  I  told  Sue: 
it's  always  the  same  story  when  a  girl  drops  out 
of  sight!" 

"  Oh,  is  that  so !  "  returned  the  younger  woman, 
wrath  fully.  "  Well,  it  just  happens,  madam,  that 
I  was  married." 

"  Laura !  "  entreated  Farvel.  "  You  mean — ^you 
mean  the  child  is — ours?  " 

She  tossed  her  head.  "Is  it  bad  news?"  she 
asked. 

Farvel's  shoulders  were  shaking.  "  A-a-a-ah ! " 
he  murmured.  He  fumbled  for  a  handkerchief, 
crumbled  it,  and  held  it  against  his  face. 


176  Apron-Strings 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Farvel,"  began  Mrs.  Milo,  in 
her  best  manner,  "  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I'm 
very  glad  to  hear  all  this.  I  know  what  the  temp- 
tations of  this  great  city  are,  and  naturally " 

She  got  up.  "  A  reunited  family,  Mr.  Farvel,"  she 
said,  smiling  graciously.  "  Oh,  Susan  will  be  so 
pleased ! "  She  fluttered  toward  the  door,  "  So 
pleased ! " 

Clare  gave  a  hissing  laugh.  "  Oh,  how  that  news 
will  scatter ! "  she  exclaimed.  And  flounced  into 
her  chair. 

Mrs.  Milo  was  calling  into  the  hall.  "  Susan ! 
Susan  dear! " 

"  On  guard ! "  Sue  was  part  way  up  the  stairs, 
seated. 

"Just  a  moment,  my  daughter."  Leaving  the 
door  wide,  Mrs.  Milo  came  fluttering  back.  "  It 
really  didn't  surprise  me,"  she  declared,  with  a 
wise  nod  at  Balcome.  "  I  half  guessed  a  mar- 
riage." 

"  Hope  for  the  worst !  "  mocked  Clare. 

Sue  came  in,  with  a  quick  look  around.  "  Are 
you  ready  to  go,  mother  ?  " 

"You  bet,  mother  is  not  ready  to  go," — this 
Clare,  under  her  breath. 


Apron-Strings  177 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  mother,  sweetly,  "  we  have 
called  you  in  to  tell  you  some  good  news." 

Sue  smiled.  "  I  could  manage  to  bear  up  under 
quite  a  supply  of  good  news."  Farvel  was  brush- 
ing at  his  eyes.  His  face  was  averted,  but  she 
guessed  that  he  had  been  crying. 

"  First  of  all,  Susan,  Miss  Crosby  is ** 

"  Now,  mother,  does  Miss  Crosby  want " 


"  Wa-a-ait !  Please !  It  is  something  she  wishes 
you  to  know. — Am  I  right?  "  This  with  that  char- 
acteristic smile  so  wholly  muscular. 

"  Right  as  the  mail ! "  assured  Clare,  ironically 
again,  and  borrowing  an  expression  learned  from 
Hull. 

"Ah!  Thank  you! — Susan,  Miss  Crosby  is 
not  Miss  Crosby  at  all.  She  is  married. — 
Fm  so  glad  your  husband  has  found  you,  my 
dear." 

"Found?    You — you  don't  mean "    There 

was  a  frightened  look  in  Sue's  eyes. 

Her  mother  misunderstood  the  look.  "Yes, 
lucky  Mr.  Farvel,"  she  said,  beaming.  Then  with 
precision,  since  Sue  seemed  not  to  comprehend, 
"  Mrs.— Alan— Farvel." 

« I— see." 


lyS  Apron-Strings 

"  Didn't  I  practically  guess  that  Mr.  Farvel  was 
married  ?  " 

**  Married,'* — it  was  like  an  echo. 

"And  I  was  right!" 

"  Yes,  mother, — yes — you're — you're  always 
right." 

"  Mr.  Farvel,  we  congratulate  you ! — Don't  we, 
dear?" 

"  Congratulations." 

Something  in  Sue's  face  made  Farvel  reach  out 
his  hand  to  her.  She  took  it  mechanically.  Thus 
they  stood,  but  not  looking  at  each  other. 

Once  more  Mrs.  Milo  was  playfully  teasing. 
"  Why  shouldn't  we  all  know  that  you  had  a 
wife?  "  she  twittered.  It  was  as  if  she  had  added, 
"You  bad,  bad  boy!" 

"Yes,"  said  Sue.  "Why  not?  Rectors  do 
have  them.  There's  no  canon  against  it."  She 
laughed  tremulously,  and  dropped  his  hand. 

Clare  tossed  her  head.  "  There  ought  to  be  I " 
she  declared. 

At  that,  Mrs.  Milo  threw  out  both  arms 
dramatically.  "  Oh !  Oh,  dear !  "  she  cried.  "  I've 
just  thought  of  something  I " 

"  I'll  bet !  '^  Clare  turned,  instantly  apprehensive. 


Apron-Strings  179 

"  Save  it,  mother ! "  begged  Sue,  eager  to  avert 
whatever  might  be  impending;  " — save  it  till  we 
get  home.  Come !  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Farvel  will  have 
things  to  talk  over."  And  to  the  clergyman,  "  We'll 
take  Mr.  Balcome  and  go  on  ahead." 

"  Now  wait !  "  bade  Mrs.  Milo,  gently.  "  Why 
are  you  so  impetuous,  daughter?  Why  don't  you 
listen  to  your  mother?  Why  do  you  take  it  for 
granted  that  I  want  to  make  Mrs.  Farvel  unhappy  ?  " 
— this  in  a  chiding  aside. 

"  I  don't,  mother." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  greatly  concerned  about  her.  She 
believed  her  husband  dead,  poor  girl.  And  now" 
— with  a  sudden,  disconcerting  turn  on  Clare — 
"  what  about  your  engagement  ?  " 

"  Fm — Fm  not  engaged !  "  As  she  sprang  up,  the 
girl  pressed  both  hands  against  the  wine-colored 
velveteen  of  her  skirt,  hiding  them.  "  I  never 
sai '  I  was !  Oh,  I  wish  you'd  mind  your  own 
business ! " 

"Mother!  Mother!"  pleaded  Sue.  "It  was 
you  who  said  it.  Not  Miss — Mrs.  Farvel.  Don't 
you  remember  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  be  engaged  ?  "  She  was  embold- 
ened by  Sue's  help.     "/  knew  he  wasn't — dead." 


i8o  Apron- Strings 

Farvel  laughed  a  little  bitterly.  "  You  mean,  no 
such  luck,  don't  you,  Laura  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Well, 
then, — Fve  got  some  good  news  for  you." 

"  What  ?  What  ?  " — with  a  sudden,  eager  move- 
ment toward  him. 

"  When  five  years  had  passed,  and  no  word  had 
come  from  you,  though  we  all  felt  that  you  were 
alive,  your  brother — in  order  to  settle  the  estate 
— had  you  declared  legally  dead.  And  naturally, 
that— that " 

"  I'm  free!  "  She  put  up  both  hands,  and  lifted 
her  face — almost  as  if  in  prayerful  thanksgiving. 
"  I'm  free !  I'm  free ! "  Then  she  gave  way  to 
boisterous  laughter,  and  fell  to  walking  to  and  fro, 
waving  her  arms,  and  turning  her  head  from  side 
to  side.  "  I'm  dead,  but  I'm  free !  Oh,  ha !  ha !  ha ! 
— Well,  that  is  good  news!  Free!  And  you're 
free!" 

"  No,  I  am  not  free,"  he  said  quietly.  "  But  it 
doesn't  matter." 

"  You  are  free,"  she  protested.  "  Anyhow,  Fm 
not  going  to  let  any  of  that  nonsense  stand  in  my 
way.  And  don't  you — church  or  no  church. 
Life's  too  short."  Her  manner  was  hurried.  She 
caught  at  Farvel's  arm.     "  We're  both  free,  Alan, 


Apron-Strings  i8i 

so  there's  nothing  more  to  say,  is  there?  Except, 
good-by.     Good-by,  Alan, " 

Mrs.  Milo  interrupted.  "  But  the  child,"  she 
reminded.     "  Your  daughter  ?  " 

"Daughter?"  Sue  turned  to  Balcome,  ques- 
tioning him,  and  half-guessing. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  Isn't  it  lovely?  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Farvel  have  a  little  girl." 

"  That's  the  one,"  Balcome  explained,  as  if  Clare 
was  not  within  hearing.  He  jerked  his  head 
toward  the  hall.  "The  one  that  called  her 
Auntie." 

"Auntie?"  Mrs.  Milo  seized  upon  the  infor- 
mation. "You  surely  don't  mean  that  the  child 
calls  her  own  mother  Auntie  ?  " 

Clare  broke  in.  "I'll  tell  you  how  that  is," 
she  volunteered.  "You  see" — speaking  to  Sue — 
"  I've  never  told  her  I'm  her  mother.  She  thinks 
her  mother's  in  Africa;  her  father,  too.  Because 
— because  I've  always  planned  to  give  her  to  some 
good  couple — a  married  couple.  Don't  you  see,  as 
long  as  Barbara  doesn't  know,  they  could  say,  *  We 
are  your  parents.'  " 

"  But  you  couldn't  give  her  up  like  that! "  cried 
Sue,  earnestly. 


1 82  Apron-Strings 

"  No,"  purred  Mrs.  Milo.  "  You  must  keep 
your  baby.  And,  doubtless" — this  with  the  in- 
gratiating smile,  the  tip  of  the  head,  and  the  pious 
inflection — "  doubtless  you  two  will  wish  to  re- 
marry— for  the  sake  of  the  child." 

"  No !  "  cried  Clare.     "  No !    No !    No!" 

"  No,  Mrs.  Milo,"  added  Farvel,  quietly.  "  She 
shall  be  free." 

"  No,  for  Heaven's  sake ! "  put  in  Balcome. 
"  Don't  raise  another  girl  like  Hattie's  been 
raised." 

Mrs.  Milo  showed  her  dislike  of  the  remark, 
with  its  implied  criticism  of  her  own  judgment. 
And  she  was  uneasy  over  the  turn  that  the  whole 
matter  had  taken.  Farvel  married,  no  matter  to 
whom,  was  one  thing:  Farvel  very  insecurely  tied, 
and  possessed  of  a  small  daughter  whose  mother 
repudiated  her,  that  was  quite  another.  She 
watched  Sue  narrowly,  for  Sue  was  watching 
Farvel. 

"  But  the  little  one,"  said  the  clergyman,  turning 
to  Clare;  *'  I'd  like  to  see  her." 

"Sure!"  She  was  all  eagerness.  "Why  not? 
—Yes." 

"Where  is  she?" 


Apron-Strings  183 

"  Out  of  town.  At  Poughkeepsie.  She  boards 
with  some  people." 

"  Ah,  good  little  mother ! "  said  Sue,  smiling. 
"  Your  baby's  not  in  an  Institution !  " 

Clare  blushed  under  the  compliment.  "  No,  I — 
I  shouldn't  like  to  have  her  in  an  Orphanage." 

"  Can  she  come  down  right  away  ?  "  asked  Farvel. 

"  Yes !     Right  away !     I'll  go  after  her  now." 

"  ni  go  with  you,"  suggested  Sue.  "  May  I?  " 
She  tried  to  catch  Farvel's  eye,  to  warn  him. 

"But,  Susan,"  objected  Mrs.  Milo;  "I  can't 
spare  you." 

"  Oh,  I  can  go  alone,"  protested  Clare.  "  I  don't 
need  anybody." 

Behind  her  back,  Balcome  held  up  a  lead-pencil 
at  Sue. 

She  understood.  "We'll  send  for  the  baby. 
Now,  what's  the  address  ?  "  She  proffered  Clare 
the  pencil  and  an  envelope  from  one  of  Balcome's 
sagging  pockets.  Then  to  him,  as  Clare  wrote, 
"  Would  you  mind  going  back  to  the  Rectory  and 
sending  me  Dora  ? " 

"  Good  idea !  "     He  pulled  on  the  big  hat. 

"  Dora  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Milo.     "  That  child  ?  " 

"  Child !  "  laughed  Sue.     "  Why,  I'd  send  her  to 


184  Apron-Strings 

Japan.  You  don't  think  she'd  ever  succumb  to  the 
snares  and  pitfalls  of  this  wicked  world!  She'll 
set  the  whole  train  to  memorizing  Lamentations ! " 

Mrs.  Milo's  eyes  narrowed.  Sue's  sudden  inter- 
est in  Farvel's  daughter  was  irritating  and  dis- 
turbing. "Wait,  Brother  Balcome,"  she  begged. 
"  Sue,  /  don't  see  why  the  little  girl's  own  mother 
shouldn't  go  for  her." 

"Of  course,  I  can." 

Balcome  waited  no  longer.  With  a  meaning 
glance  at  Sue,  and  a  scowl  for  Mrs.  Milo,  he 
hurried  out. 

"Oh,  let  Dora  go,  Mrs.  Farvel,"  urged  Sue. 
"  And  meanwhile,  you  can  be  getting  settled  some- 
where." 

Clare  looked  pleased.     "  Yes.     All  right." 

"  Then  she  will  leave  here  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Milo. 

"  Oh,  she  must,"  declared  Sue,  "  if  she's  going  to 
have  her  baby  come  to  her."  She  indicated  the 
suitcase.     "  Is  there  more?  " 

"  A  trunk.  And  it  won't  take  me  ten  minutes." 
As  she  turned  to  go,  Clare's  look  rested  on  the 
bird-cage,  and  she  put  out  a  hand  toward  it  in- 
voluntarily— then  checked  her  evident  wish  to  take 
it  with  her,  and  disappeared  into  her  own  room. 


Apron-Strings  185 

"  Where  had  she  better  go  ?  "  asked  Farvel,  ap- 
pealing to  Sue.     "  You'll  know  best,  I'm  sure " 

Mrs.  Milo  fluttered  to  join  them.  "  Of  course," 
she  began,  her  voice  full  of  sweet  concern,  **  there 
are  organized  Homes  for  young  women  who've 
made  mistakes " 

"  Sh ! "  cautioned  Farvel,  with  a  nervous  look 
toward  the  double  door. 

"  There's  the  little  one,  mother,"  reminded  Sue. 

"  Oh,  but  hear  me  out,"  begged  the  elder  woman. 
"  In  this  case,  I'm  not  advising  such  an  institution. 
I  suggest  some  very  nice  family  hotel." 

Sue  lowered  her  voice.  "  It  won't  do,"  she  said. 
"  We  want  to  help  her — and  we  want  to  help  the 
baby.     If  she  goes  alone  to  a  hotel,  we'll  never  see 

her  again.     Just  before  you  came "     She  went 

close  to  the  double  door.  Beyond  it,  someone  was 
moving  quickly  about,  with  much  rustling  of  paper. 
She  came  tiptoeing  back.  "  She  tried  to  steal 
away,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  mustn't  lose  track  of  my  daughter,"  declared 
Farvel.  He,  too,  went  to  listen  for  sounds  from 
the  back-parlor. 

"  Then  we'd  better  take  her  right  to  the  Rectory," 
advised  Sue,  "and  have  Barbara  brought  there.** 


i86  Apron-Strings 

Mrs.  Milo  bristled.  "  Now  if  you  please ! "  she 
exclaimed  angrily. 

Farvel  crossed  to  her,  eyeing  her  determinedly. 
"  I  don't  see  any  serious  objection,"  he  observed 
challengingly.     "  Your  son — will  not  be  there." 

"  You've  lost  your  senses !  Have  you  no  regard 
for  the  conventions?  This  woman  is  your  ex- 
wife!" 

"  But  if  there  is  no  publicity — and  for  just  a 
few  days,  mother." 

Mrs.  Milo  attempted  to  square  those  slender 
shoulders.  "  I  won't  have  that  girl  at  the  Rectory," 
she  replied  with  finality. 

Farvel  smiled.  ''  But  the  Rectory  is  my  home, 
Mrs.  Milo." 

"  Oh,  for  the  sake  of  the  child,  mother !  For  no 
other  reason." 

''  If  she  comes,  I  shall  leave — leave  for  good !  " 

Farvel  bowed  an  acceptance  of  her  edict. 
"  Well,  she  is  coming,"  he  said  firmly;  "  and  so  is 
Barbara." 

"  Then  I  shan't  sleep  under  that  roof  another 
night !  "  Mrs.  Milo  trembled  with  wrath.  "  Come, 
Susan!  We  shall  do  some  packing."  She  bustled 
to  the  hall  door,  but  paused  there  to  right  her 


Apron-Strings  187 

bonnet — an  excuse  for  delaying  her  departure 
against  the  capitulation  of  her  opponents.  She 
longed  to  speak  at  greater  length  and  more  plainly, 
but  she  dreaded  what  Farvel  might  say  against  her 
son. 

Sue  did  not  follow.  "  But,  mother ! "  she 
whispered.  "  Mr.  Farvel ! — Oh,  don't  let  her  hear 
any  of  this!  "  She  motioned  the  clergyman  toward 
the  rear  room.  **  Sh! — You  offer  to  help  her!  Go 
in  there!     Oh,  do!" 

He  nodded.  "And  you'll  come  with  us  to  the 
Rectory?" 

"  Indeed,  she  won't ! "  cried  Mrs.  Milo,  coming 
back.     "  The  very  idea !  " 

Farvel  ignored  her.  "  You  see,"  he  added,  with 
just  a  touch  of  humor,  "  we'll  have  to  have  a 
chaperone."     He  knocked. 

"Oh,  come  in !  "  called  Clare. 

Sue  shut  the  door  behind  him;  then  she  took  her 
mother  with  her  to  the  bay-window,  halted  her 
there  as  if  she  were  standing  one  of  the  naughty 
orphans  in  a  corner,  and  looked  at  her  in  sorrowful 
reproval. 

Mrs.  Milo  drew  away  from  the  touch  of  her 
daughter's  hand  irritably.     "  Now,  don't  glare  at 


1 88  Apron-Strings 

me  like  that !  "  she  ordered.  "  The  Rectory  is  not 
a  reformatory." 

"  Oh,  let's  not  take  that  old  ruined-girl  attitude !  " 
replied  Sue,  impatiently.  "Laura  Farvel  doesn't 
need  reforming.     She  needs  kindness  and  love." 

"  Love !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Milo,  scornfully.  "  Do 
you  realize  that  you're  talking  about  a  woman  who 
led  your  own  brother  astray?  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  did  the  leading,"  Sue  an- 
swered quietly.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were 
both  very  young " 

"  Wallace  is  a  good  boy !  " 

"  The  less  we  say  about  Wallace  in  this  matter 
the  better.  Why  don't  you  go  to  him,  mother  ?  He 
must  be  very  unhappy.  He  will  want  advice.  And 
there's  Mr.  Balcome — shouldn't  you  and  he  take  all 
this  up  with  Hattie's  mother?  " 

"  Wallace  will  tell  Hattie.  We  can  trust  him. 
But  I  don't  want  you  to  act  foolish.  Is  she  going 
to  bring  that  child  to  the  Rectory?" 

"  To  the  home  of  the  child's  own  father  ?  Why 
not?" 

"  Yes !     And  you'll  get  attached  to  her !  " 

Sue  did  not  guess  at  the  real  fear  that  lay  behind 
her  mother's  words.     "  But  you  want  me  to,  don't 


^  Apron-Strings  189 

you?  Fm  attached  to  a  hundred  others  there  al- 
ready.    And  you'll  love  Barbara,  too." 

"  There !  You  see  ? — Wherever  a  young  one  is 
concerned,  you  utterly  forget  your  mother !  '* 

"  Why — why "     Sue  put  a  helpless  hand  to 

her  forehead.  "  Forget  you?  I  don't  see  how  the 
little  one  would  make  any  difference " 

Farvel  interrupted,  opening  the  double  door  a 
few  inches  to  look  in.  "  Miss  Susan, — just  a 
minute?" 

"  Can  I  help  ?  "  Without  waiting  for  the  pro- 
test to  be  expected  from  her  mother,  Sue  hurried 
out. 

Mrs.  Milo  stayed  where  she  was,  staring  toward 
the  back-parlor.  *'  0-o-o-oh !  To  the  Rectory ! " 
she  stormed.  "  It's  abominable !  I  won't  have  it ! 
Such  an  insult ! — The  creature !  " 

Someone  entered  from  the  hall — noiselessly.  It 
was  Tottie,  wearing  her  best  manners,  and  with  a 
countenance  from  which,  obviously,  she  had  ex- 
tracted, as  it  were,  some  of  the  rosy  color  worn 
at  her  earlier  appearance.  She  had  smoothed  her 
bobbed  red  tresses,  too,  and  a  long  motor  veil  of 
a  lilac  tinge  made  less  obtrusive  the  decollete  of 
the  tea-gown. 


190  Apron-Strings 

"Young  woman,"  began  Mrs.  Milo,  speaking 
low,  and  with  an  air  of  confidence  calculated  to 
flatter;  "this — this  Miss  Crosby;"  (she  gave  a 
jerky  nod  of  her  bonnet  to  indicate  the  present 
whereabouts  of  that  person)  "  youVe  known  her 
some  time?  " 

A  wise  smile  spread  upon  Miss  St.  Clair's  de- 
rouged  face.  She  dropped  her  lashes  and  lifted 
them  again.  "  Long,"  she  replied  significantly, 
"  and  intimate/' 

The  blue  eyes  danced.  "  My  daughter  seems  in- 
terested in  her.     And  I  have  a  mother's  anxiety." 

Tottie  was  blessed  with  a  sense  of  humor,  but 
she  conquered  her  desire  to  laugh.  The  daughter 
in  question  was  a  woman  older  than  herself;  under 
the  circumstances,  a  "  mother's  anxiety  "  was  hardly 
deserving  of  sympathy.  Nevertheless,  the  land- 
lady answered  in  a  voice  that  was  deep  with 
condolence.  "  Oh,  /  understand  how  y'  feel,"  she 
declared. 

"  We  know  very  little  about  her.  I  wonder — 
€an  you — tell  me — something/' 

Tottie  let  her  eyes  fall — to  the  modish  dress,  with 
Its  touches  of  lace;  to  a  pearl-and-amethyst  brooch 
thiat  held  Mrs.  Milo's  collar;  to  the  fresh  gloves  and 


Apron-Strings  191 

the  smart  shoes.  She  recognized  good  taste  even 
though  she  did  not  choose  to  subscribe  to  it;  also, 
she  recognized  cost  values.  She  looked  up  with  a 
mysterious  smile.  "  Well,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I 
don't  like  to — knock  anybody." 

"A-a-ah!"  triumphed  the  elder  woman;  **  I 
thought  so! — Now,  you  won't  let  me  be  imposed 
upon !  Please !  Quick ! "  A  white  glove  was  laid 
on  a  chiffon  sleeve. 

"Sh!— Later!  Later!"  The  landlady  drew 
away,  pointing  toward  the  back-parlor  warningly. 
The  situation  was  to  her  taste.  She  seemed  to  be 
a  part  of  one  of  those  very  scenes  for  which  her 
soul  yearned — melodramatic  scenes  such  as  she  had 
witnessed  across  footlights,  with  her  husky-voiced 
favorite  in  the  principal  role. 

"  I'll  come  back,"  whispered  Mrs.  Milo. 

"  No.  I'll  'phone  you."  With  measured  tread, 
Tottie  stalked  to  the  double  door,  her  eyes  shifting, 
and  one  hand  outstretched  with  spraddling  fingers 
to  indicate  caution. 

Mrs.  Milo  trotted  after  her.  "  But  I  think  I'd 
better  come  back." 

Tottie  whirled.     ''  What's  your  'phone  number  ?  " 

"  Stuyvesant — three,   nine,   seven," — this   before 


192  Apron-Strings 

she  could  remember  that  she  was  not  planning  to 
sleep  under  the  Rectory  roof  again, 

"  Don't  I  git  more'n  a  number  ? "  persisted 
Tottie.     "Whom  'm  I  to  ask  for?" 

"  Just  say  '  Mrs.  Milo/  '* 

"  Stuyvesant — three,  nine,  seven,  Mrs.  Milo,"  re- 
peated Tottie,  leaning  down  at  the  table  to  note 
the  data.  Then  with  the  information  safely  regis- 
tered, "  Of  course,  it'll  be  worth  somethin'  to  you." 

Mrs.  Milo  almost  reeled.     She  opened  her  mouth 

for  breath.     "  Why — why — you   mean "     All 

her  boasted  poise  was  gone. 

Tottie  grinned — with  a  slanting  look  from  be- 
tween half-lowered  lashes.  "  I  mean — money," 
she  said  softly ;  and  gave  Mrs.  Milo  a  playful  little 
poke. 

"  Money !  " — too  frightened,  now,  even  to  resent 

familiarity.      "Money!      Oh,    you    wouldn't ! 

You  don't !" 

"Yes,  ma'am!  You  want  somethin'  from  me, 
and  I  can  give  it  to  y',  but  you're  goin'  to  pay 
for  it!" 

The  double  door  opened.  Sue  entered,  her  look 
startled  and  inquiring.  It  was  plain  that  she  had 
overheard. 


Apron-Strings  193 

Mrs.  Milo  pretended  not  to  have  noted  Sue's 
coming.  "  Yes,  very  well,"  she  said  to  Tottie,  as 
if  continuing  a  conversation  that  was  casual;  but 
the  blue  eyes  were  frightened.  "  Thank  you  so 
much!" — warmly.  '*  And  isn't  that  a  bell  I  hear 
ringing?"  She  gave  the  landlady  a  glance  full  of 
meaning. 

"  Ha-ha !  "  With  a  nod  and  a  saucy  backward 
grin,  Tottie  went  out. 

For  a  moment  neither  mother  nor  daughter  spoke. 
Sue  waited,  trying  to  puzzle  out  the  significance 
of  what  she  had  caught;  and  scarcely  daring  to 
charge  an  indiscretion.  Mrs.  Milo  waited,  forcing 
Sue  to  speak  first,  and  thus  betray  how  much  she 
had  heard. 

"  I  thought  you'd  gone,"  ventured  Sue. 

"  Gone,  darling  ?     Without  you  ?  " 

"  That  woman ;  " — Sue  came  closer — "  I  hope  you 
were  very  careful." 

"  Why,  I  was !  " — this  not  without  the  note  of 
injured  innocence  always  so  efifective. 

But  Sue  was  not  to  be  blocked  so  easily. 
"  You're  going  to  pay  her  for  what?  " 

"Pay?" 

"  What  was  she  saying  ?  " 


194  Apron-Strings 

Now  Mrs.  Milo  realized  that  she  had  been  heard : 
that  she  must  save  herself  from  a  mortifying 
situation  by  some  other  method  than  simple  jus- 
tification. She  took  refuge  in  tears.  "  I  can 
see  that  you're  trying  to  blame  me  for  some- 
thing ! "  she  complained,  and  sank,  weeping,  to  the 
settee. 

"  I  don't  like  to,  mother,"  answered  Sue, 
"but " 

That  good  angel  who  watches  over  those  who  see 
no  other  way  out  of  an  embarrassing  predicament 
save  the  unlikely  arrival  of  an  earthquake  or  an 
aeroplane  now  intervened  in  Mrs.  Milo's  behalf. 
Dora  came  in,  showing  that  the  bell  had,  indeed, 
been  summoning  the  mistress  of  the  house.  Behind 
Dora  was  Tottie,  and  the  attitude  of  each  to  the 
other  was  plainly  belligerent. 

"  As  you  don't  know  your  Scriptures,"  Dora  was 
saying,  with  a  sad  intonation  which  marked  Tottie 
as  one  of  those  past  redemption,  "  I'll  repeat  the 
reference  for  you :  '  Curiosity  was  given  to  man  as 
a  scourge.'  "  Then  in  anything  but  a  spirit  proper 
to  a  biblical  quotation,  she  slammed  the  door  in 
Tottie's  face. 

Mrs.   Milo,  dry-eyed,   was   on   her   feet  to   re- 


Apron-Strings  195 

ceive  Dora.  "  Oh,  you  impudent ! "  she  charged. 
"  That's  the  reference  you  gave  mc — when  I  asked 
you  who  was  telephoning  my  daughter!  I  looked 
it  up!" 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Milo ! "  Dora  put  finger-tips  to- 
gether and  cast  mournful  eyes  up  to  Tottie's 
chandelier.     "  '  The  tongue  is  a  world  of  iniquity.'  " 

Sue  took  her  by  a  shoulder,  shaking  her  a  little. 
"  Dora,  I'm  sending  you  out  of  town." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Susan !  "  All  nonsense  was  fright- 
ened out  of  her.  "  Don't  send  me  away !  I  tried 
to  do  my  best — to  keep  her  from  coming  here! 
But,  oh,  Deuteronomy,  nine,  thirteen ! " 

"  Deuteronomy,  nine,  thirteen,"  repeated  Mrs. 
Milo,  wrinkling  her  brows.  Her  eyes  moved  as  she 
cudgeled  her  brain.     *'  Deuteronomy " 

Sue  gave  Dora  another  shake.  "  Listen,  my 
dear!  I'm  sending  you  after  a  little  girl.  Here! 
Twenty  dollars,  and  it's  Mr.  Farvel's." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Susan ! " — with  abject  relief. 
"  Gladly  do  I  devote  my  gifts,  poor  as  they  are, 
to  your  service."  And  in  her  best  ministerial 
manner,  "Where  is  the  child?"  She  tucked  the 
paper  bill  into  a  glove. 

"  Poughkeepsie," — Sue    gave    her    the    address. 


196  Apron-Strings 

"  Go  up  this  afternoon —  right  away.  And  return 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  Bring  her  straight 
to  the  Rectory.  Now,  you'll  have  quite  a  ride  with 
that  baby,  Dora.  And  I  want  you  to  get  her  ready 
for  the  happiest  moment  in  all  her  Httle  Hfe!  Do 
you  hear? — the  happiest,  Dora!  And,  oh,  here's 
where  you  must  be  eloquent !  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Susan,  *  I  am  of  slow  speech,  and  of 
a  slow  tongue.' " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  to  say,"  reassured  Sue.  "  You 
say  to  her  that  you're  bringing  her  to  her  mother; 
and  that  she's  going  to  live  with  her  mother,  in  a 
little  cottage  somewhere — a  cottage  running  over 
with  roses." 

"  Roses,"  echoed  Dora,  and  counting  on  her 
fingers,  " — mother,  cottage,  garden " 

"  And  tell  her  that  she's  got  a  dear  mother — 
so  brave,  and  good,  and  sweet,  and  pretty.  And 
her  mother  loves  her — don't  forget  that! — loves 
her  better  than  anything  else  in  the  whole 
world " 

"Loves  her,"  checked  off  Dora,  pulling  aside 
another  finger;  " — brave,  good,  sweet,  pretty " 

"Yes,  and  there's  going  to  be  no  more  board- 
ing out — no  more  forever!    Oh,  the  lonely  little 


Apron-Strings  197 

heart !  "  Sue  took  Dora  by  both  shoulders.  '*  Her 
mother's  waiting  for  her !  Her  mother !  Her  own 
mother !  " 

"Boarding  out/' — checking  again;  " — waiting 
mother.  Miss  Susan,  I  shall  return  by  the  first 
train  tomorrow,  Providence  permitting."  This  last 
was  accompanied  by  a  solemn  look  at  Mrs.  Milo, 
and  a  roguish  hop-skip  that  freed  her  from  Sue's 
hold. 

"  Oh,  the  very  first !  "  urged  Sue.     "  Dora !  " 

Dora  swung  herself  out. 

Now  Mrs.  Milo  seemed  her  usual  self  once  more. 
"  Then  Mrs.  Farvel  will  not  remain  at  the  Rec- 
tory ?  "  she  inquired. 

"Oh,  how  could  she?  Of  course  not!  They 
called  me  in  to  tell  me:  Mrs.  Farvel  and  Barbara 
will  leave  New  York  in  two  or  three  days." 

"  Good !  Meanwhile,  we  shall  stay  at  the  hotel 
with  Mrs.  Balcome." 

"  But  I  must  go  to  the  Rectory." 

"  I  see  no  necessity." 

"Why,  mother!  Mrs.  Farvel  couldn't  possibly 
go  there  without  someone.  Surely  you  see  how  it 
is.  Besides,  there's  the  house — Dora's  gone,  and 
I  must  go  back." 


198  Apron-Strings 

"  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  returned  Mrs. 
Milo,  tartly. 

"  Just  for  one  night  ?  " 

"  Not  for  one  hour.    They  will  get  someone  else." 

"A  stranger? — Now,  mother!  Mrs.  Farvel 
needs    me." 

"Oh,  she  needs  you,  does  she?" — resentfully. 
"  And  I  suppose  your  own  mother  doesn't  need 
you." 

"  You'll  be  with  Wallace." 

"  So !  "  And  with  a  taunting  smile,  "  Perhaps 
Mr.  Farvel  also  needs  you." 

"  No."  But  now  a  curious  look  came  into  Sue's 
eyes — a  look  of  comprehension.  Jealousy!  It 
was  patent  to  her,  as  it  had  never  been  before. 
Her  mother  was  jealous  of  Farvel;  fearful  that 
even  at  so  late  a  date  happiness  might  come  to  the 
middle-aged  woman  who  was  her  daughter.  "  No," 
she  said  again.     "  He  doesn't  need  me.'* 

''/wdeed!" 

"  No —I  need  him." 

Mrs.  Milo  was  appalled.  ''  A-a-a-ah !  So  thafs 
it!  You  need  him!  Now,  we're  coming  to  the 
truth!" 

"  Yes,— the  truth." 


Apron-Strings  199 

"  That's  why  you  couldn't  rest  till  you'd  followed 
this  woman !  "  Mrs.  Milo  pointed  a  trembling  hand 
toward  the  double  door.  *'  You  were  sure  it  was 
some  love-affair.     And  you  were  jealous!" 

Sue  laughed.     "  Jealous,"  she  repeated,  bitterly. 

"  Yes,  jealous !  The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  you're 
crazy  about  Alan  Farvel !  "     She  was  panting. 

"And  if— lam?"  asked  Sue. 

*'  Oh!"  It  was  a  cry  of  fury.  With  a  swift 
movement,  Mrs.  Milo  passed  Sue,  pulled  at  the 
double  door,  and  stood,  bracing  herself,  as  she 
almost  shrieked  down  at  Clare,  kneeling  before  an 
open  suitcase.  "  You've  done  this !  You !  You 
dragged  my  son  down,  and  now  you're  coming 
between  me  and  my  daughter !  " 

Clare  rose,  throwing  a  garment  aside. 

"Mother!  Mother!"  Sue  tried  to  draw  her 
mother  away. 

Mrs.  Milo  retreated,  but  only  to  let  Clare  enter, 
followed  by  Farvel. 

"Go  back!"  begged  Sue.  "Go  back!— Mr. 
Farvel,  take  her! " 

"  Come,  Laura !     Come !  " 

But  Clare  would  not  go.  "  Yes,  come— and  let 
her   wreak   her   meanness   on   Miss   Milo!     No! 


200  Apron- Strings 

Here's  a  sample  of  what  you're  going  to  get,  Alan, 
for  insisting  on  my  going  to  that  Rectory.  So 
you'd  better  hear  it.  I  told  you  the  plan  is  a 
mistake."  And  to  Mrs.  Milo,  "Let's  hear  what 
you've  got  to  say." 

Righteous  virtue  glittered  in  the  blue  eyes.  "  I've 
got  this  to  say !  "  she  cried.  "  You've  been  missing 
ten  years — ten  years  of  running  around  loose. 
What've  you  been  up  to  ?  Are  you  fit  to  be  a  friend 
of  my  daughter  ?  " 

Sue  flung  an  arm  about  Clare.  "  I  am  her 
friend!  "  she  declared.  "  I  won't  judge  her! — Oh, 
mother ! " 

It  only  served  to  rouse  Mrs.  Milo  further.  "  Ah, 
she  knows  I'm  right! — You're  going  to  lie,  are  you? 
You're  going  to  palm  yourself  off  on  a  decent  man  1 
Ha!  You  won't  fool  anybody!  You're  marked! 
Look  in  this  glass ! "  She  caught  up  the  hand- 
mirror  lying  on  the  table  and  thrust  it  before 
Clare's  face.  **  Look  at  yourself !  It's  as  easy  to 
read  as  paper  written  over  with  nasty  things! 
Your  paint  and  powder  won't  cover  it!  The  bad- 
ness sticks  out  like  a  scab !  "  Then  as  Clare,  with 
a  sudden  twist  of  the  body,  and  a  sob,  hid  her 
face  against  Sue,  Mrs.  Milo  tossed  the  mirror  to 


Apron-Strings  201 

the  table.  "There!"  she  cried.  "I've  had  my 
say !  Now  take  your  bleached  fallen  woman  to  the 
Rectory !  "  And  with  a  look  of  defiance,  she  went 
back  to  the  rocking-chair  and  sat. 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment.  Sue,  holding  the 
weeping  girl  in  her  arms,  and  soothing  her  with 
gentle  pats  on  the  heaving  shoulders,  looked  at  her 
mother,  answering  the  other's  defiant  stare  angrily. 
"  Ah,  cruel !  Cruel !  "  she  said,  presently.  "  And  I 
know  why.  Oh,  don't  you  feel  that  we  should  do 
everything  in  our  power  for  Mr.  Farvel,  and  not 
act  Hke  this?  Haven't  we  Milos  done  enough  to 
give  him  sorrow?  "  (It  was  characteristic  that  she 
did  not  say  "  Wallace,"  but  charged  his  wrong- 
doing against  the  family.)  "Here's  our  chance 
to  be  a  little  bit  decent.  And  now  you  attack 
her.  But — it's  not  because  you  think  she's 
sinned:  it's  because  you  think  I'm  going — to  the 
Rectory." 

Now  Clare  freed  herself  gently  from  Sue's  em- 
brace, lifting  her  head  wearily.  "  Oh,  I  might  as 
well  tell  you  both" — she  looked  at  Farvel,  too — 
"that  she's  right  about  me.  There  have  been— 
other  things." 

Sue  caught  her  hands.    "  Oh,  then  forget  them !  " 


202  Apron-Strings 

she  cried.  "  And  remember  only  that  you're  going 
to  be  happy  again !  " 

Clare  hung  her  head.  "  But  the  lies,"  she  re- 
minded, under  her  breath.  "  The  lies.  Felix,  he 
won't  forgive  me.  I  am  engaged  to  him.  And  he 
doesn't  know  that  I've  ever  been  married  before. 
That's  why  I  was  so  scared  when  I  saw — when  I 
guessed  Alan  was  at  the  Rectory.  And  why  I 
wanted  to — to  sneak  a  little  while  ago.  Oh,  I  can't 
ever  face  Felix!  I — I've  never  even  told  him  that 
Barbara  is  mine." 

"  Let  me  tell  him. — And  surely  marriage  and  a 
daughter  aren't  crimes.  And  he'll  respect  you  for 
clinging  to  the  child." 

''  He  knows  I  meant  to  desert  her,"  Clare 
whispered  back.  "  Oh,  Miss  Milo,  there's  some- 
thing wrong  about  me!  I  bore  her.  But  I'm  not 
her  mother.  I  never  can  be.  Some  women  are 
mothers  just  naturally.  Look  how  those  choir-boys 
love  you !  '  Momsey  '  they  call  you — *  Momsey.' 
Ha !     They  know  a  mother  when  they  see  one ! " 

Mrs.  Milo  rocked  violently,  darting  a  scornful 
look  at  the  little  group.  "  Disgusting ! "  she 
observed. 

The  three  gave  her  no  notice.     "  You'll  grow  to 


Apron-Strings  203 

love  your  baby,"  declared  Sue.  *'  You  can't  help 
it.  Just  wait  till  you've  got  a  home — instead  of  a 
boarding-house.  And  trust  us,  and  let  us  help 
you.'* 

A  wan  smile.  "  Ah,  how  dear  and  good  you 
are!"  breathed  the  girl.     "Will  you  kiss  me?" 

"God  love  you!"  Once  more  Sue  caught  the 
slender  figure  to  her. 

"  So  good !     So  good !  " — weeping. 

"  Now  no  more  tears !  Let  me  see  a  smile ! " 
Sue  lifted  the  wet  face. 

Clare  smiled  and  turned  away.  "  I'll  finish  in 
here,"  she  said,  and  went  into  the  other  room. 

Farvel  made  as  if  to  follow,  but  turned  back. 
"  Ah,  Sue  Milo,  you  are  dear  and  good ! "  he 
faltered.  Then  coming  to  take  her  hand,  "  Your 
tenderness  to  Laura — your  thought  of  the  child! 
Ah,  you're  a  woman  in  a  million !  How  can  I  ever 
get  on  without  you !  "  He  raised  her  hand  to  his 
lips,  held  it  a  moment  tightly  between  both  of 
his,  and  went  out. 

Mrs.  Milo  had  risen.  Now  she  watched  her 
daughter — the  look  Sue  gave  Farvel,  and  the  glance 
down  at  the  hand  just  caressed.  To  the  jealous 
eyes  of  the  elder  woman,  the  clergyman's  action,  so 


204  Apron-Strings 

full  of  tender  admiration,  conveyed  but  one  thing 
— such  an  attachment  as  she  had  charged  against 
Sue,  and  which  now  seemed  fully  reciprocated. 
With  a  burst  of  her  ever  available  tears,  she  dropped 
back  into  her  chair. 

But  the  tears  did  not  avail.  For  Sue  stayed 
where  she  was.  And  her  face  was  grave  with 
understanding.  "  Ah,  mother,"  she  said,  with  a 
touch  of  bitterness.  **  I  knew  my  happiness  would 
make  you  happy !  '* 

"  Laura ! "  It  was  Farvel,  calling  from  the 
back-parlor.    "  Laura !    Laura !    Where  are  you  ?  " 

Sue  met  him  as  he  rushed  in.    "  What ?  " 

"She's  not  there!"  He  ran  to  the  hall  door, 
calling  as  before. 

"  She's  gone  ?  "  Sue  went  the  opposite  way,  to 
look  from  the  rear  back-parlor  window  that  com- 
manded a  small  square  of  yard. 

Mrs.  Milo  ceased  to  weep. 

"Laura!     Laura!"  Farvel  called  up  the  stairs. 

"  Hello-o-o-o !  "  sang  back  Tottie. 

"Laura!  Laura!"-  Now  Farvel  was  on  the 
steps  outside.  He  descended  to  the  sidewalk, 
turned  homeward,  halted,  reconsidering,  then  hur- 
ried the  opposite  way. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Hat  in  hand,  and  on  tiptoe,  Clare  slipped  from 
her  room  to  the  hall,  and  down  the  stairs  leading 
to  the  service-entrance  beneath  the  front  steps. 
Her  coat  was  over  an  arm,  and  a  Japanese  wrist- 
bag  hung  beside  it.  As  noiselessly  as  possible,  she 
let  herself  out.  Then  bareheaded  still,  but  not  too 
hurriedly,  and  forcing  a  pleasant,  unconcerned 
expression,  she  turned  away  from  the  brownstone 
house — going  toward  the  Rectory. 

Across  the  street,  waiting  under  steps  that 
offered  him  the  right  concealment,  a  man  was 
loitering.  In  the  last  hour  he  had  seen  a  number 
of  people  enter  Tottie's,  and  five  had  left — the  child 
and  Mrs.  Colter,  a  fat  man  and  a  slim,  and  a  quaint- 
looking  girl  with  her  hair  in  pig-tails.  He  had 
stayed  on  till  Clare  came  out;  then  as  she  fled,  but 
without  a  single  look  back,  he  prepared  to  follow. 

But  he  did  not  forsake  his  hiding-place  until  she 
had  turned  the  first  corner.  Then  he  raced  for- 
ward, peered  around  the  corner  cautiously,  located 

205 


2o6  Apron-Strings 

her  by  the  bobbing  of  her  yellow  head  among  other 
heads  all  hatted,  and  fell  in  behind  her  at  a  discreet 
distance. 

Now  she  put  on  her  hat — ^but  without  stopping. 
She  adjusted  her  coat,  too.  At  the  end  of  the 
block,  she  crossed  the  street  and  made  a  second 
turn. 

Once  more  the  man  ran  at  top  speed,  and  was 
successful  in  locating  the  hat  tilted  so  smartly. 
And  again  he  settled  down  to  the  pace  no  faster 
than  hers.  Thus  the  flight  and  the  pursuit 
began. 

At  first,  Clare  walked  at  a  good  rate,  with  her 
head  held  high.  But  gradually  she  went  more 
slowly,  and  with  head  lowered,  as  if  she  were 
thinking. 

She  did  not  travel  at  random.  Her  course  was 
a  northern  one,  though  she  turned  to  right  and  left 
alternately,  so  that  she  traced  a  Greek  pattern. 
Presently,  rounding  a  corner,  she  turned  up  the 
steps  of  a  house  exteriorally  no  different  from 
Tottie's,  save  for  the  changed  number  on  the 
tympanum  of  colored  glass  above  its  front  door, 
and  the  white  card  lettered  in  black  in  a  front 
window — a  card  that  marked  the  residence  as  the 


Apron-Strings  207 

headquarters    of    the    Gramercy    Club    for    Girls. 

Clare  rang. 

The  man  came  very  near  to  missing  her  as  she 
waited  for  the  answering  of  the  bell.  And  it 
seemed  as  if  she  could  not  fail  to  see  him,  for  she 
looked  about  her  from  the  top  of  the  steps.  When 
she  was  admitted,  he  sat  down  on  a  coping  to  con- 
sider his  next  move. 

Twice  he  got  up  and  went  forward  as  if  to  mount 
the  steps  of  the  Club;  but  both  times  he  changed 
his  mind.  Then,  near  at  hand,  occupying  a  neigh- 
boring basement,  he  spied  a  small  shop.  In  the 
low  window  of  the  shop,  among  hats  and  articles 
of  handiwork,  there  swung  a  bird-cage.  He  hur- 
ried across  the  street,  entered  the  store,  still  with- 
out losing  sight  of  the  steps  of  the  Club,  and  called 
forward  the  brown-cheeked,  foreign-looking  girl 
busily  engaged  with  some  embroidery  in  the  rear 
of  the  place.  A  question,  an  eager  reply,  a  taking 
down  of  the  canary,  and  he  went  out,  carrying  the 
cage. 

Very  erect  he  was  as  he  strode  back  to  the  Club. 
Here  was  a  person  about  to  go  through  with  an 
unpleasant  program,  but  virtuously  determined  on 
his  course.     His  jaw  was  set  grimly.     He  climbed 


2o8  Apron-Strings 

to  the  storm-door,  and  rang  twice,  keeping  his  finger 
on  the  bell  longer  than  was  necessary.  Then,  very 
deliberately,  he  adjusted  his  pince-nez. 

A  maid  answered  his  ring — a  maid  well  past 
middle-age,  with  gray  hair,  and  an  air  of  author- 
ity. She  looked  her  displeasure  at  his  prolonged 
summoning. 

"Miss  Crosby  is  here,"  he  began;  "I  mean  the 
young  woman  who  just  came  in."  He  was  very 
curt,  very  military;  and  ignored  the  reproof  in  her 
manner.     *'  Please  say  that  Mr.  Hull  has  come." 

The  maid  promptly  admitted  him. 

But  to  make  sure  that  he  would  not  fail  in 
his  purpose  to  see  Clare — that  she  would  not  escape 
from  the  Club  as  quietly  as  she  had  left  Tottie's, 
he  now  lifted  the  bird-cage  into  view.  "  Tell  Miss 
Crosby  that  Mr.  Hull  has  brought  the  canary,"  he 
added. 

"  Very  well," — the  servant  went  up  the  stairs  at 
a  leisurely  pace  that  was  irritating. 

She  did  not  return.  Instead,  Clare  herself  ap- 
peared at  the  top  of  the  staircase,  and  descended 
slowly,  looking  calmly  at  him  as  she  came.  Her  hat 
was  off,  and  she  had  tidied  her  hair.  Something  in 
her  manner  caused  him  to  move  his  right  arm,  as 


Apron-Strings  209 

if  he  would  have  Hked  to  screen  the  cage.  She 
glanced  at  the  bird,  then  at  him.  Her  look  discon- 
certed him.  His  pince-nez  dropped  to  the  end  of 
its  ribbon,  and  clinked  musically  against  a  button. 

She  did  not  speak  until  she  reached  his  side.  "  I 
just  called  the  Northrups  on  the  'phone  and  asked 
for  you,"  she  began. 

"  Oh  ?  "     He  made  as  if  to  set  the  cage  down. 

"You'd  better  bring  it  into  the  sitting-room," 
she  said. 

"  Yes."     He  reddened. 

The  sitting-room  of  the  Club  was  a  full  sister  to 
that  garish  front-parlor  of  Tottie's,  but  a  sister 
tastefully  dressed.  The  woodwork  was  ivory. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  silk  tapestry  in  which 
an  old-blue  shade  predominated.  The  curtains  of 
velvet,  and  the  chairs  upholstered  in  the  same 
material,  were  of  a  darker  blue  that  toned  in 
charmingly  with  the  walls.  Oriental  rugs  covered 
the  floor. 

"  You  need  not  have  brought  an — excuse,"  Clare 
observed,  as  she  closed  the  door  to  the  hall. 

"  Well,  I  thought,"  he  explained,  smiling  a  little 
sheepishly,  "  that  perhaps " 

"  Particularly,"  she  interrupted,  cuttingly,  "  as  I 


2IO  Apron-Strings 

remember  how  you  said  a  little  while  ago  that  you 
hate  a  liar."     She  lifted  her  brows. 

She  had  caught  him  squarely.  The  cage  was  a 
He.  He  put  it  behind  a  chair,  where  it  would  be 
out  of  sight. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  he  went  on  lamely,  "  if  you 

hadn't  wanted  to  see  me,  why — why "     (Here 

he  was,  apologetic!) 

"  Oh,  I  quite  understand.  It's  always  legitimate 
for  a  man  to  cheat  a  woman,  isn't  it?  It's  not 
legitimate  for  a  woman  to  cheat  a  man."  She 
seated  herself. 

He  winced.  He  had  expected  something  so  dif- 
ferent— weeping,  pleading,  the  wringing  of  hands; 
or,  a  hidden  face  and  heaving  shoulders,  and,  of 
course,  more  lies.  Instead,  here  was  only  quiet 
composure,  more  dignity  of  carriage  than  he  had 
ever  noted  in  her  before,  and  a  firmly  shut  mouth. 
He  had  anticipated  being  hurt  by  the  sobbing  con- 
fessions he  would  force  from  her.  But  her  cool 
indifference,  her  self-possession,  were  hurting  him 
far  more.  Their  positions  were  unpleasantly  re- 
versed. And  he  was  standing  before  her,  as  if  he, 
and  not  she,  was  the  culprit! 

"  Sit  down,  please,"  she  bade,  courteously. 


Apron-Strings  211 

He  sat,  pulling  at  his  mustache.  Now  he  was 
getting  angry.  His  look  roved  beyond  her,  as  he 
sought  for  the  right  beginning. 

'*  What  I'd  like  to  ask,"  he  commenced,  "  is, 
are  you  prepared  to  tell  me  all  I  ought  to  know — 
about  yourself?  "  ("  Tell  me  the  truth  "  was  what 
he  would  have  liked  to  say,  but  the  confounded  cage 
made  impossible  any  allusion  to  truth!) 

She  smiled.  "  And  Fd  like  to  know,  are  you 
prepared  to  tell  me  all — all  I  ought  to  know — about 
yourseli  ?  " 

"  Oh,  now  come !  "  he  returned — and  could  go  no 
further.  Here  was  more  of  the  unexpected:  he 
was  being  put  on  the  defensive ! 

"You've  been  a  soldier,"  she  went  on;  "you've 
seen  a  lot  of  the  world  before  you  met  me.  But 
you  didn't  recite  anything  you'd  done.  You  ex- 
pected me  to  take  you  'as  is,'  and  I  thought, 
naturally  enough,  that  that  was  the  way  you  meant 
to  take  me." 

"  But  I  don't  see  why  a  girl  should  know  about 
matters  in  which  she  is  not  concerned — which  were 
a  part  of  a  man's  past." 

"  Exactly.  And  that's  just  the  way  I  felt  about 
matters  in  which  you  were  not  concerned.     But — I 


212  Apron-Strings 

was  wrong,  wasn't  I?  You're  not  an  American. 
You're  a  European.  And  you  have  the  Continental 
attitude  toward  women — proprietorship,  and  so  on." 

He  stared.  He  had  never  heard  her  talk  like  this 
before.  "Ah,  um,"  he  murmured,  still  worrying 
the  mustache.  She  was  using  no  slang,  and  that 
"  Continental  attitude  " — his  glance  said,  "  Where 
did  you  come  by  thatf  " 

"  I've  known  all  along  that  you  had  the  Old 
World  bias — the  idea  that  it  is  justice  for  the  Pot 
to  call  the  Kettle  black — the  idea  that  a  man  can  do 
anything,  but  that  a  woman  is  lost  forever  if  she 
happens  to  make  one  mistake.  That  all  belongs,  of 
course,  right  back  where  you  came  from.  No  doubt 
your  mother  taught " 

"  Please  leave  my  mother  out  of  this  discussion !  " 
Here  was  something  he  could  say  with  great  severity 
and  dignity — something  that  would  imply  the  con- 
trast between  what  Clare  Crosby  stood  for  and  the 
high  standards  of  his  mother,  whose  fame  might 
not  be  tarnished  even  through  the  mention  of  her 
name  by  a  culpable  woman. 

Clare  laughed.  "  Early  Victorian,'*  she  com- 
mented, cheerfully;  "that  do-not-sully-the-fair- 
name-of -mother    business.       It's    in    your    blood, 


Apron-Strings  213 

Felix, — along  with  the  determination  you  feel  never 
to  change  when  once  youVe  made  up  your  mind, 
as  if  your  mind  were  something  that  has  set  itself 
solid,  as  metal  does  when  it's  run  into  a  mold." 

"Oh,  indeed  I    Just  like  that !  " 

She  nodded.  "  Precisely.  And  when  you  make 
up  your  mind  that  someone  is  wrong,  or  has  hurt 
your  vanity  (which  i^  worse),  you  are  just  middle- 
class  enough  to  love  to  swing  a  whip." 

He  got  up.  "  Pardon  me  if  I  don't  care  to  listen 
to  your  opinion  of  me  any  longer,"  he  said.  "  It 
just  happens  that  I've  caught  you  at  your  tricks 
today." 

"It  just  happens  that  you  think  you've  caught 
me — you've  dropped  to  that  conclusion.  But— do 
you  know  anything?  " 

"  Well,— well, " 

"  You  shall.  Please  sit  down  again.  And  feel 
that  you  were  justified — that  I  am  really  a  culprit 
of  some  kind — just  as  you  are." 

He  sat,  too  astonished  to  retort— but  too  curious 
to  take  himself  away. 

"  Because  I  really  want  to  tell  you  quite  a  little 
about  myself."  There  was  a  glint  of  real  humor 
in  her  eyes.     "  And  first  of  all,  I  want  to  tell  the 


214  *  Apron-Strings 

real  truth,  and  it'll  make  you  feel  a  lot  better — 
it'll  soothe  your  vanity." 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  rather  sudden  change  in 
your  opinion  of  me."  He  tried  to  be  sarcastic. 
And  he  leaned  back,  folding  his  arms. 

*'  Oh,  no.  I've  always  known  that  you  were 
vain,  and  hard.     But  I  didn't  expect  perfection." 

"  Ah." 

"  But,  first,  let  me  tell  you— when  I  left  Tottie's 
just  now,  I  thought  of  the  river.  Suicide — that's 
what  first  came  to  my  mind." 

"  I'm  very  glad  you  changed  it," — this  with  al- 
most a  parental  note.  Her  mention  of  the  river 
had  soothed  his  vanity ! 

"  Oh,  are  you  ?  "     She  laughed  merrily. 

"  And  what  brought  about  the — the " 

"  Sue  Milo." 

"  Er — who  do  you  say  ?  "  He  had  expected  a 
compliment. 

"  A  woman  you  don't  know — a  woman  that  you 
must  have  seen  go  into  Tottie's  just  after  Barbara 
left — as  you  stood  sentry." 

"  Ah,  yes."     He  had  the  grace  to  blush  again. 

"  She  is  the  secretary  at  the  Church  near  by — you 
know,  St.  Giles.    She  keeps  books,  and  answers  tele- 


Apron-Strings  215 

phones,  and  types  sermons,  and  does  all  the  letters 
for  the  Rector — formerly  my  husband." 

An  involuntary  start — which  he  adroitly  made 
the  beginning  of  an  assent. 

"  I've  met  her  only  a  few  times.  But  I  feel  as 
if  I'd  known  her  all  my  life.  Oh,  how  dear  her 
attitude  was !  "     Sudden  tears  trembled  in  her  eyes. 

"  Different  from  mine,  eh?  " 

*'  Absolutely !  It  was  the  contrast  between  you 
and  her  that  made  me  see  things  as  they  are — 
twenty  blocks,  I  walked — and  such  a  change ! " 

"Fancy!" 

"  When  I  was  thinking  I  might  as  well  die,  I 
said,  *li  he  were  in  trouble  today,  I'd  be  tender 
and  kind  to  him.  But  when  I  cried  out  to  him, 
what  I  got  was  no  faith — no  help — only  suspicion.' 
All  my  devotion  since  I've  known  you — it  counted 
for  nothing  the  moment  you  knew  something  was 
wrong.  And  I  was  half-crazy  with  fear  just  at 
the  thought  of  losing  you."  Her  look  said  that  she 
had  no  such  fear  now. 

He  shifted  his  feet  uneasily. 

"  Then  I  said  to  myself,  '  Why,  you  poor  thing, 
it's  only  a  question  of  time  when  you'd  lose  him 
anyhow.'     Even  if  we  married,  Felix,  we  wouldn't 


2i6  Apron-Strings 

be  happy  long.  It  would  be  like  living  over  a 
charge  of  dynamite.  Any  minute  our  home  might 
blow  up." 

He  smiled  loftily.  "  And  Miss — er — What's-her- 
name,  she  fixed  everything?  " 

"She  helped  me!  I've  never  met  anyone  just 
like  her  before.  I've  met  plenty  of  the  holier-than- 
thou  variety.  That's  the  only  sort  I  knew  before 
I  ran  away  from  my  husband."  She  was  finding 
relief  in  talking  so  frankly.  "  Then  there's  Tottie's 
kind — ugh!  But  Miss  Milo  is  the  new  kind — a 
woman  with  a  fair  attitude  toward  other  women; 
with  a  generous  attitude  toward  mistakes  even. 
That  old  lady  you  saw  go  in — she's  so  good  that 
she'd  send  me  to  the  stake."  She  laughed.  "  But 
her  daughter — if  she  knew  that  I  had  sinned  as 
much  as  you  have,  she'd  treat  me  even  better  than 
she'd  treat  you." 

"  You'll  be  a  militant  next,"  he  observed 
sneeringly. 

"Oh,  I'm  one  already!  But  I'm  not  blaming 
anything  on  anybody  else.  For  whatever's  gone 
wrong,  I  can  just  thank  myself.  All  these  ten 
years,  I've  taken  the  attitude  that  I  mustn't  be 
discovered — that  I  must  hide,  hide,  hide.     I  have 


Apron-Strings  217 

been  living  over  a  charge  of  dynamite,  and  I  set 
it  myself.  I've  been  afraid  of  a  scarecrow  that  I 
dressed  myself. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it.  Because  if  they'd 
ever  traced  me,  what  harm  would  it  have  done? — 
I  wouldn't  have  gone  back  unless  I  was  carried  by 
main  force.  But  the  papers  said  I  was  dead.  So 
I  just  set  myself  to  keep  the  idea  up.  Next  thing, 
I  met  you.  Then  I  wasn't  afraid  of  a  shadow — 
I  had  something  real  to  fear :  losing  you. 

"  But  now  I  don't  care  what  you  think,  or  what 
you're  going  to  do,  or  what  you  say.  I'm  not  even 
going  to  let  Alan  Farvel  think  that  Barbara's  his — 
when  she  isn't." 

He  shot  a  swift  look  at  her.  So !  The  child  was 
her  own,  after  all !     His  lip  curled. 

She  understood.  "  Oh,  get  the  whole  thing  clear 
while  you're  about  it,"  she  said  indifferently.  "  I'm 
not  trying  to  cover.  At  least  I  didn't  lose  sight 
of  the  child.  Miss  Milo  praised  me  for  that. — But 
— the  truth  is,  I'm  not  like  most  other  women. 
I'm  not  domestic.  I  never  can  be.  Why  worry 
about  it." 

"  You  take  it  all  very  cool,  I  must  say !  And 
you're  jolly  sure  of  yourself.     Don't  need  help,  eh? 


21 8  Apron-Strings 

Highty-tighty  all  at  once."  But  there  was  a  note 
of  respect  in  his  voice. 

"  I've  got  friends,"  she  said  proudly.  "  And  if 
I  need  help  I  know  where  to  get  it." 

The  maid  entered.     "  Your  tea  is  ready,  Miss." 

Clare  stood  up  and  put  out  a  hand.  "  We'll  run 
across  each  other  again,  I  suppose,"  she  said 
cordially. 

He  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears — which  were 
burning.      "Oh,   then   you're   not   lighting  out?" 

"  When  I  love  little  old  New  York  so  much  ?  Not 
a  chance!  No,  you  can  go  and  get  your  supper 
without  a  fear."  She  laughed  saucily.  Then  as  he 
turned,  "  Oh,  don't  forget  the  bird." 

He  leaned  down,  hating  her  for  the  ridiculous- 
ness of  his  situation.  He  did  not  glance  round 
again.     The  gray-haired  maid  showed  him  out. 


CHAPTER  IX 

With  a  sigh  of  relief,  Mrs.  Milo  rose,  adjusted 
her  bonnet,  and,  to  make  sure  that  her  appearance 
justified  her  going  out  upon  the  street,  took  up 
from  the  table  that  same  hand-mirror  which  she 
had  thrust  before  Clare's  face.  *'  So  she's  gone," 
she  observed.  She  turned  her  head  from  side  to 
side,  delicately  touching  hair  and  bonnet,  and  the 
lace  at  her  throat.  "  Well,  it's  for  the  best,  I've 
no  doubt. — And  now  we  can  go  home.'* 

Sue  did  not  move.  She  had  come  back  from  her 
quick  survey  of  the  rear  yard  to  stand  at  the  center 
of  the  front  room — to  stand  very  straight,  her  head 
up,  her  eyes  wide  and  fixed  on  space,  her  face 
strangely  white  and  stern. 

"Susan?"  Mrs.  Milo  took  out  and  replaced  a 
hairpin. 

Sue  stirred.  "  Do  you  mean  to  his  home  ?  "  she 
asked  slowly. 

"  I  mean  to  the  Rectory."     The  glass  was  laid 

back  upon  the  table. 

219 

\ 


220  Apron-Strings 

"  After  what  youVe  said  ?  " 

"  What  I  said  was  true." 

"Ah! — You  believe  in  speaking — ^the  truth?" 

"  What  a  question,  my  daughter !  " — fondly. 

"  Even  when  the  truth  is  bitter — and  hard! " 
She  trembled,  and  drew  in  her  breath  at  the  re- 
membrance of  that  scathing  arraignment. 

"Shall  we  start?" 

"  But  he  has  asked  you  not  to  return.  And  it's 
you  who  have  sent  her  away.  And  the  little  one 
is  coming.     You  can't  go  to  the  Rectory." 

"  Oh,  indeed  ?  "  queried  Mrs.  Milo,  sarcastically. 
"  And  are  you  going  ?  " 

Sue  waited  a  moment.  Then,  "  My  work  is 
there." 

Mrs.  Milo  started.  "  Now  let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing! ■'  she  cried,  throwing  up  her  head.  "  You've 
disobeyed  me  once  today " 

Sue  smiled.     "  Disobeyed  I  "  she  repeated. 

" — If  you  disobey  me  again — if  you  go  back  to 
the  Rectory  without  me " 

"  I  shall  certainly  go  back." 

" — You  shan't  have  one  penny  of  your  father's 
life  insurance!  Not  one!  I'll  leave  every  cent  of 
it  to  Wallace!" 


Apron-Strings  221 

Again  Sue  smiled.  "  Ah,  you're  independent  of 
me,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Quite— thank  Providence !  " 

"  No.  Thank  me.  All  these  years  youVe  had 
that  insurance  money  out  earning  interest.  You 
haven't  had  to  use  any  of  it,  or  even  any  of  its 
earnings " 

"  It  has  grown,  Fm  happy  to  say." 

"Until  you  have  plenty.  Meanwhile,  I've  paid 
all  of  your  expenses,  and  educated  my  brother. 
Now — you  can  dispense  with — your  meal-ticket." 

"  Af^aZ-ticket !  "  It  was  not  the  implied  charge, 
but  the  slang,  that  shocked. 

"  Yes,  meal-ticket." 

"  So  you  throw  it  up !  You've  been  supporting 
me !     And  helping  Wallace !  " 

"  Fve  been  glad  to.  Every  hour  at  my  machine 
has  been  a  happy  one.  Fve  never  begrudged  what 
Fve  done." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  I  shan't  need  to  take  any  more 
support  from  you,  nor  will  my  son.'* 

Sue  laughed  grimly.  "  I  don't  know  about  that, 
mother.  I'm  afraid  he's  going  to  miss  his  chance 
to  marry  a  rich  girl.  And  he's  never  been  very  suc- 
cessful in  making  his  own  way." 


222  Apron-Strings 

Mrs.  Milo  would  not  be  diverted  from  the  main 
issue.  "  I  repeat,  Susan :  You  disobey  me,  as 
youVe  threatened  to,  and  I'm  done  with  you. 
Understand  that.  You'll  go  your  way,  and  I  will 
go  mine." 

Sue  nodded.  She  understood.  Her  mother  had 
announced  her  ultimatum  to  Farvel,  and  he  had 
accepted  it.  Mrs.  Milo  could  not  return  to  the 
Rectory.  But  if  Sue  continued  her  work  there, 
it  meant  that  she  would  enjoy  a  happy  companion- 
ship with  the  clergyman — a  companionship  unhin- 
dered by  the  presence  of  the  elder  woman.  Such  a^* 
state  of  affairs  might  even  end  in  marriage.  And 
now  Sue  knew  it  was  marriage  that  her  mother 
feared. 

"  Very  well,  mother." 
"  Ah,  you  like  the  separation  plan !  " 
"  We're  as  wide  apart  in  our  ideas  as  the  poles." 
"  "f  have  certainly  been  very  much  mistaken  in 
you.     Though  I  thought  I  knew  my  own  daughter! 
But     you  belong  with  the  Farvels,  and  it's  a  pity 
she  has  run  away.     Perhaps  she'll  turn  up  later  on." 
She  spoke  quietly,  but  she  was  livid  with  anger.     "  I 
shall  not  be  there  to  interfere  with  your   friend- 
ship.    I  am  going  to  the  hotel  now.     You  can 


Apron-Strings  223 

direct  my  poor  boy  to  me,  if  it  isn't  too  much 
trouble." 

"  So  you  are  going."  Then  smiHng  wistfully, 
"  But  who  will  fuss  over  you  when  you're  not  sick  ? 
And  coax  you  out  of  your  nerves?  And  wait  on 
you  like  a  lady's  maid  ?  And  how  will  you  be  able 
to  keep  an  eye  on  me,  mother  ?  *  Who's  telephoning 
you,  Susan?'  And  'Who's  your  letter  from, 
darling?'"  Then  with  sarcasm,  "Oh,  hen-pecked 
Susan,  is  it  possible  that  you'll  be  able  to  go  to 
Church  without  a  chaperone?  That  you  can  go 
down  town  without  having  to  report  home  at  half- 
hour  intervals  ?  " 

"Well!  Well!  Well!"  marveled  Mrs.  Milo. 
She  walked  to  the  window  before  retorting  further. 
Then,  with  a  return  to  the  old  methods  of  playing 
for  sympathy,  "  And  here  I've  thought  that  you 
were  contented  and  happy  with  me !  But — it  seems 
that  your  mother  isn't  enough."  '  - 

The  attempt  failed.  "  Was  your  m<  ther 
enough  ?  "  demanded  Sue.  — 

Mrs.  Milo  came  strolling  back.  Was  it  possible 
that  tactics  invariably  efficacious  in  the  past  would 
utterly  fail  her  today  ?  She  made  a  second  attempt. 
"  But — ^but  do  you  realize,",she  faltered,  with  what 


224  Apron-Strings 

seemed  deep  feeling;  " — your  father  died  when 
Wallace  was  so  little.  If  you  hadn't  helped 
me,  how  would  I  have  gotten  on?  If  you'd 
married " 

"  Couldn't  I  have  helped  you?  " 

"  But  I  had  Wallace  so  late.  And  I'd  have  been 
alone.  What  would  I  have  done  without  my 
daughter  ?  " 

Sue  was  regarding  her  steadily.  ''  What  did 
your  mother  do  without  you?  And  when  you  die, 
where  shall  /  be? — Alone!  Ah,  you've  seen  the 
pathos  of  your  own  situation! — But  how  about 
mine?"  For  a  second  time  in  a  single  day,  this 
was  a  changed  Sue,  unaccountably  clear-visioned, 
and  plain  of  speech. 

"  Dear  me !  "  cried  her  mother,  mockingly.  "  Our 
eyes  are  open  all  of  a  sudden !  " 

"  Yes, — my  eyes  are  open." 

"  Why  not  open  your  mouth  ?  " 

"  Thank  you  for  the  suggestion.  I  shall.  For 
twenty-five  years,  my  eyes  have  been  shut.  I've 
always  said,  '  My  mother  is  sweet,  and  pious,  and 
kind.  She's  one  of  that  lovely  type  that's  passing.' 
(Thank  Heaven,  the  type  is  passing!)  If  now  and 
then  you  were  a  little  severe  with  me — oh,   I've 


Apron-Strings  225 

noticed  it  because  people  have  sometimes  interfered, 
as  Hattie  did  this  morning — I've  never  minded  at 
all.  Tve  said,  *  Whatever  I  am,  I  owe  to  my 
mother.  And  what  she  does  is  right.'  Anything 
you  said  or  did  to  me  never  made  any  difference  in 
the  wonderful  feeling  I  had  about  you — the  feeling 
of  love  and  belief.  All  this  time  I've  never  once 
thought  of  rebelling.  But  what  you  said  and  did 
to  another — to  her,  a  girl  who  needs  kindness  and 
sympathy,  who's  never  done  you  an  intentional 
wrong !  Oh,  you're  not  really  gentle  and  chari- 
table !     You* re  cruel,  mother !  " 

"  I  am  just." 

"  The  right  kind  of  a  woman  today  gives  other 
women  a  chance  for  their  lives — their  happiness. 
That  is  real  piety.  She  makes  allowances.  She's 
slow  to  condemn." 

"  You  don't  have  to  tell  me  that  loose  standards 
prevail." 

Sue  did  not  seem  to  hear.  "All  these  years 
you've  talked  to  me  about  the  home — the  home 
with  a  capital  H.  Your  home — which  you'd  *  kept 
together  ' — the  American  home — wave  the  flag ! 
And  I've  always  believed  that  you  meant  what  you 
said.     But  today  I  understand  your  real  attitude. 


226  Apron-Strings 

First,  because  you  weren't  willing  to  give  that  poor 
cornered  girl  a  chance  at  one.  You  intruded  into 
her  room  and  deliberately  drove  her  away." 

*'  She  ran  away  once  from  a  good  home  with  a 
good  man."  She  paid  Farvel  the  compliment  un- 
consciously— and  unintentionally. 

"  Then  consider  my  case," — it  was  as  if  Sue  were 
speaking  to  herself.  "  Why  haven't  you  given  me 
a  chance?  For  all  these  years,  if  a  man  looked 
cross-eyed  at  me,  was  he  ever  asked  to  call  on  us?  " 

**  Such  nonsense !  " 

"If  he  did,  somehow  or  other  there  was  trouble. 
You  would  cry,  and  say  I  didn't  love  you^ — or  you 
pretended  to  find  something  wrong  with  him,  and 
he  didn't  come  again.  And  once — once  I  remember 
that  you  claimed  that  you  were  ill — though  I  think  I 
guessed  that  you  weren't — and  away  we  went  for  a 
change  of  air.     Oh,  peace  at  any  price !  " 

Mrs.  Milo  grew  scarlet.  *'  Ha ! "  she  scoffed. 
"  So  Fm  to  blame  for  your  not  being  married !  I've 
stood  in  your  way !  " 

"  Just  think  how  you've  acted  today — ^the  way 
you  acted  over  this  dress — you  can't  bear  to  see  me 
look  well?  Why? — ^Yes,  you've  stood  in  my  way 
from  the  very  first." 


Apron-Strings  227 

"  I  deny  it !  You'd  better  look  in  the  mirror.** 
She  picked  it  up  and  held  it  out  to  Sue.  "  You 
know,  you're  not  a  sweet  young  thing." 

Sue  took  the  glass,  and  held  it  before  her,  gaz- 
ing sadly  at  her  reflection.  "  No,"  she  answered. 
"  But  I  can  remember  when  I  was  sweet — and 
young."     She  laid  the  mirror  down. 

Mrs.  Milo  felt  the  necessity  of  toning  her 
remarks.  She  spoke  now  with  no  rancor — but 
firmly.  "  Your  lack  of  judgment  was  excusable 
then,"  she  declared.  "  But  now — this  interest  in 
any  and  every  child — in  Farvel,  a  man  younger  than 
yourself — it's  silly,  Sue.  It's  disgusting — in  an  old 
maid." 

"  Any  and  every  child,"  repeated  Sue.  **  Oh, 
selfish!     Selfish!     Selfish!" 

"  No  one  can  accuse  me  of  that !  Fve  been  try- 
ing to  save  you  from  making  yourself  ridiculous." 

"  To  save  me !  Why,  mother,  you  can't  bear  to 
see  me  give  one  hour  to  those  poor,  deserted 
orphans.  If  I  go  over  to  see  them,  you  go  along. 
And  how  many  friends  have  I?  Every  thought  I 
have  must  be  for  you !  you !  you !  ** 

"  I  have  exacted  the  attention  that  a  mother 
should  have.'* 


228  Apron-Strings 

"And  no  more?  But  what  about  Wallace? 
Have  you  exacted  the  attention  from  him  that  you 
should  have?  Does  he  owe  you  nothing?  Why 
shouldn't  he  spend  what  he  earns  in  caring  for  his 
mother,  instead  of  spending  every  penny  as  he 
pleases?  Is  there  one  set  of  rules  for  daughters, 
and  another  for  sons  ? ;  Why  haven't  you  tied  him 
up?  Are  you  sure  he's  capable,  when  he  reaches 
Peru,  of  supporting  a  wife?  Or  will  he  simply 
draw  on  Mr.  Balcome — the  way  he's  lived  on 
me. 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  speak  of  your 
brother  in  such  a  way ! " 

"  How  much  more  ashamed  he  ought  to  be  to 
think  that  he's  deserving  of  such  criticism." 

"  I  can't  think  what  has  come  over  you !  " 

"  It's  what  you  said  a  moment  ago :  My  eyes  are 
opened.  At  eighteen  years  of  age,  you  planned 
your  future  for  yourself.  But  you  needed  me — 
so  you  claimed  me,  body  and  soul !  And  you've  let 
me  give  you  my  whole  girlhood — my  young  woman- 
hood. You've  kept  me  single — and  very  busy. 
And  now, — I'm  an  old  maid !  " 

The  blue  eyes  glinted  with  satisfaction.  **  Well, 
you  are  an  old  maid." 


Apron-Strings  229 

"An  old  maid!  In  other  words,  my  purity's  a 
joke!" 

**  Now,  we're  getting  vulgar." 

"  Vulgar  ?  Have  you  forgotten  what  you  said 
to  Laura  Farvel?  You  taunted  her  because  she's 
not  *  good '  as  you  call  it.  And  you  taunt  me 
because  I  am!  But  who  is  farther  in  the  scheme 
of  things — she  or  I?  I  envy  her  because  she's 
borne  a  child.  At  least  she's  a  woman.  Nature 
means  us  to  marry  and  have  our  little  ones. 
The  women  who  don't  obey — what  happens  to 
them  ?  The  years  go  " — she  looked  away  now,  be- 
yond the  walls  of  Tottie's  front-parlor,  at  a 
picture  her  imagining  called  up — "  the  light  fades 
from  their  eyes,  the  gloss  from  their  hair;  they 
get  *  peculiar.'  And  people  laugh  at  them — and  I 
don't  wonder ! "  Then  passionately,  "  Look  at 
me!  Mature!  Unmarried!  Childless!  Where 
in  Nature  do  I  belong?  Nowhere!  Vm  a 
freak!" 

"  No,  my  dear."  Mrs.  Milo  smiled  derisively. 
"  You're  a  martyr." 

"  Yes !     To  my  mother." 

"  Don't  forget  " — the  well-bred  voice  grew  shrill 
— "  that  I  am  your  mother." 


230  Apron-Strings 

"You  gave  me  birth.  But — reproduction  isn't 
motherhood." 

"  Ah !  " — mockingly.    "  So  I  haven't  loved  you !  " 

"  Oh,  you've  loved  me,"  granted  Sue.  "  You've 
loved  me  too  much — in  the  wrong  way.  It's  a  mis- 
taken love  that  makes  a  mother  stand  between  her 
daughter  and  happiness." 

'^  I  deny " 

"  Wait ! — I  got  the  proof  today !  I  repeat — you 
forgot  everything  you've  ever  stood  for  at  the  mere 
thought  that  happiness  was  threatening  to  come  my 
way." 

Mrs.  Milo*s  eyes  widened  with  apprehension. 
Involuntarily  she  glanced  at  the  hand  which  Farvel 
had  lifted  to  kiss. 

"  I  ought  to  have  known  that  my  first  duty  was 
to  myself,"  Sue  went  on  bitterly;  '' — to  my  children. 
But — I  put  away  my  dreams.  And  now !  My  eyes 
are  open  too  late!  I've  found  out  my  mistake — 
too  late !  No  son — ^no  daughter — '  Momsey/  but 
never  '  Mother.'  And,  oh,  how  my  heart  has 
craved  it  all — a  home  of  my  own,  and  someone 
to  care  for  me.  And  my  arms  have  ached  for  a 
baby!" 

"Ha!    Ha!  "—Mrs.  Milo  found  it  all  so  ridic- 


Apron-Strings  231 

ulous.  "  A  baby !  Well, — why  don  t  you  have 
one?" 

For  a  long  moment,  Sue  looked  at  her  mother 
without  speaking.  "  Oh,  I  know  why  you  laugh," 
she  said,  finally.  "  I'm — I'm  forty-five.  But — 
after  today,  Pm  going  to  do  some  laughing!  I'm 
going  to  do  what  I  please,  and  go  where  I  please! 
I'm  free !  I'm  free  at  last ! "  She  cried  it  up  to 
the  chandeHer.  "From  today,  I'm  free!  This 
is  the  Emancipation  Proclamation!  This  is  the 
Declaration  of  Independence !  " 

Mrs.  Milo  moved  away,  smiling.  At  the  door 
she  turned.  "What  can  you  do?"  sh^e  asked, 
teasingly ;  " — at  your  age !  " 

Sue  buttoned  her  coat  over  the  bridesmaid's  dress. 
"  What  can  I  do?"  she  repeated.  "  Well,  mother 
dear,  just  watch  me!" 


CHAPTER  X 

The  Close  was  the  favorite  retreat  of  the 
Rectory  household.  In  the  wintertime,  it  was  a 
windless,  sunny  spot,  never  without  bird-life,  for 
to  it  fared  every  sparrow  of  the  neighborhood, 
knowing  that  the  two  long  stone  benches  in  the 
yard  would  be  plentifully  strewn  with  crumbs,  and 
that  no  prowling  cat  would  threaten  a  feathered 
feaster. 

With  the  coming  of  spring,  the  small  inclosure 
was  like  a  chalice  into  which  the  sun  poured  a 
living  stream.  Here  the  lawn  early  achieved  a 
startling  greenness  as  well  as  a  cutable  height;  here 
a  pair  of  peach  trees  dared  to  put  out  leaves  despite 
any  pronouncement  of  the  calendar;  and  in  the 
Close,  even  before  open  cars  began  their  run  along 
the  near-by  avenue,  a  swinging-couch  with  a  shady 
awning  was  installed  at  one  side;  while  opposite, 
beyond  the  sun-dial,  and  nearer  to  the  drawing- 
room,  a  lawn  marquee  went  up,  to  which  Dora 
brought  both  breakfast  and  luncheon  trays. 

232 


Apron-Strings  233 

The  Close,  shut  in  on  its  four  sides,  afforded  its 
visitors  perfect  privacy.  The  high  blank  wall  of  an 
office  building,  which  had  conformed  its  architecture 
to  that  of  the  Church  and  the  other  structures 
related  to  the  Church,  lifted  on  one  hand  to  what 
— from  the  velvet  square  of  the  little  yard — seemed 
the  very  sky.  Directly  across  from  the  office  build- 
ing was  the  Rectory;  and  two  windows  of  the 
drawing-room,  as  well  as  two  upper  windows  (the 
window  of  a  guest-room  and  the  window  of  "  the 
study")  opened  upon  it. 

One  face  of  the  Church,  ivy-grown  and  beau- 
tified with  glowing  eyes  of  stained-glass,  looked 
across  the  stretch  of  green  to  a  high  brick  wall 
which  shut  off  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the  some- 
what narrow  and  fairly  quiet  street.  It  was  over 
this  wall  that  the  peach  trees  waved  their  branches, 
and  in  the  late  summer  dropped  a  portion  of  their 
fruit.  And  it  was  in  this  wall  that  there  opened 
a  certain  door  to  the  Close  which  was  never  locked 
— a  little  door,  painted  a  gleaming  white,  through 
which  the  Orphanage  babies  came,  to  be  laid  in  the 
great  soft-quilted  basket  that  stood  on  a  stone  block 
beneath  a  low  gable-roof  of  stone. 

On  this  perfect  spring  morning,  the  Close  was 


234  Apron-Strings 

transformed,  for  the  swinging-couch  and  the  lawn 
marquee  were  gone,  and  a  great  wedding-bell  of 
hoary  blossoms  was  in  its  place,  hung  above  the 
wide  flagstone  which  lay  before  this  side  entrance 
to  the  Church.  Flanking  the  bell  on  either  hand, 
flowers  and  greenery  had  been  massed  by  the  dec- 
orators to  achieve  an  altar-like  effect.  And  above 
the  bell,  roofing  the  improvised  altar,  was  a  canopy 
of  smilax,  as  Gothic  in  design  as  the  vari-tinted 
windows  to  right  and  left. 

Discussing  the  unwonted  appearance  of  their 
haunt  and  home,  the  bird-dwellers  of  the  Close  flew 
about  in  some  excitement,  or  alighted  on  wall  and 
ledge  to  look  and  scold.  And  fully  as  noisy  as  the 
sparrows,  and  laboring  like  Brownies  to  set  the  yard 
to  rights  following  the  departure  of  the  florist  and 
his  assistant,  a  trio  of  boys  from  the  choir  raked 
and  clipped  and  garnered  into  a  sack. 

Ikey  was  in  command,  and  wielded  the  lawn 
mower.  Henry,  a  tall  mild-eyed  lad,  selected  for 
the  morning's  pleasant  duty  in  the  Close  in  order 
to  reward  him  for  irreproachable  conduct  during 
the  week  previous,  snipped  at  the  uneven  blades 
about  the  base  of  the  sun-dial.  The  third  worker 
was  Peter,  a  pale  boy,  chosen  because  an  hour  in 


Apron-Strings  235 

the  open  air  would  be  of  more  value  to  him  than 
an  hour  at  his  books. 

"  I  tell  you  she  iss  not  a  Gentile ! "  denied  Ikey, 
who  was  arrogant  over  being  armed  with  authority 
as  well  as  lawn  mower. 

"  She  is  so ! "  protested  Henry,  with  more  than 
his  usual  warmth. 

"I  know  she  ain't!" 

"  Aw,  she  is,  too !  " 

"  I  asks  her,  *  Momsey,  are  you  a  Gentile  ?  '  " 
went  on  Ikey.  "  Und  she  answers  to  me,  '  Ikey,  I 
am  all  kinds  of  religions.' — Now! " 

"  Ain't  her  mother  a  Gentile  ?  "  demanded  Henry. 

"  I'm  glat  to  say  it !  " 

"  And  her  father  was." 

"  Sure !     Just  go  in  und  look  at  him !  " 

"  Then  what's  the  matter  with  you !  She's  got 
to  be  a  Gentile !  " 

Ikey  recognized  the  unanswerableness  of  the 
argument.  '*  Veil,"  he  declared  stoutly,  "  I  lof  her 
anyhow ! " 

A  fourth  boy  leaned  from  a  drawing-room 
window.     "  Telephone !  "  he  called  down. 

"  Ach !  Dat  telephone !  "  Ikey  propped  himself 
against  the  sun-dial.     "  Since  yesterday  afternoon 


236  Apron-Strings 

alretty,  she  rings  und  nef er  stops !  *  Vere  iss  Miss 
Hattie?' — dat  Wallace,  he  iss  aw^l  lofsick!  'I 
don't  know.'  'Vere  iss  Miss  Susan?'  *I  don't 
know.'  'Vere  iss  my  daughter?' — de  olt  lady! 
'  I  don't  know.' — All  night  by  dat  telephone,  I  sit 
und  lie!" 

"  Ha !  Ha !  "  Peter,  the  pale,  seized  the  excuse 
to  drop  back  upon  the  cool  grass.  "  How  can  you 
sit  and  lief" 

"  Smarty,  you're  too  fresh!"  charged  Ikey. 
"  How  can  you  sit  und  be  lazy  ?  Look  vat  stands 
on  dis  sun-dial ! — Tempus  Fugits.  Dat  means,  *  De 
morning  iss  going.'  So  you  pick  up  fast  all  de 
grass  bits  by  de  benches. — Und  if  somebody  asks, 
*  Vere  iss  Mr.  Farvel,'  I  says,  '  I  don't  know,'  und 
dat  iss  de  truth.  Because  he  iss  gone  oudt  all 
night,  und  dat  iss  not  nice  for  ministers."  He 
shook  his  head  at  the  lawn  mower. 

"  Say,  a  woman  wants  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Milo," 
reminded  the  boy  who  was  hanging  out  of  the 
window. 

"  She  can  vant  so  much  as  she  likes,"  returned 
Ikey,  mowing  calmly. 

"  Oo !  You  oughta  heard  her ! — Shall  I  say  she's 
gone  ?  " 


Apron-Strings  237 

"  Say  she's  gone,  t'ank  gootness,"  instructed 
Ikey.  And  as  the  boy  precipitated  himself  back- 
ward out  of  sight,  "Ach,  dat's  vat's  wrong 
mit  dis  world! — de  mutter  business.  Mrs.  Mile, 
Mrs.  Bunkum,  und  your  mutter,  und  your  mut- 
ter  " 

"  Aw,  my  mother's  as  good  as  your  mother ! " 
boasted  Henry,  chivalrously. 

"  Dat  can't  be.  Because  you  nefer  hat  a  mutter — 
you  vas  left  in  dat  basket."  He  pointed.  "  Vasn't 
you?    Und  my  mutter  " — proudly — "  she  iss  dead." 

Peter  lifted  longing  eyes.  '*  Gee,  I  wish  /  had 
a  mother." 

"  A-a-a-ah ! "  Ikey  waggled  a  wise  head.  "  You 
kids,  you  vould  like  goot  mutters — und  you  git  left 
in  baskets.  Und  Momsey  says  dat  lots  of  times 
mutters  dat  iss  goot  mutters,  dey  don't  haf  no  chil- 
dren." Then  to  Henry,  who,  like  Peter,  had  seized 
upon  an  excuse  for  pausing  in  his  work,  "  Here ! 
Git  busy  mit  de  shears !  Ofer  by  de  vail  iss  plenty 
schnippin'." 

Henry  tried  flattery.  "  I  like  to  hear  y'  talk," 
he  confessed. 

"  Ve-e-e-ell, — "  Ikey  was  touched  by  this  apprc 
elation  of  his  philosophizing. 


238  Apron-Strings 

"  And  I'm  kinda  tired." 

Now  Ikey's  virtuous  wrath  burst  forth.  He 
fixed  the  tall  boy  with  a  scornful  eye.  "  Oh,  you 
kicker !  "  he  cried.  **  You  talk  tired — und  you  do 
like  you  please!  'Und  you  say  Momsey  so  much 
as  you  vant  to!  Momsey!  Momsey!  Momsey! 
Momsey ! "  Each  time  the  lawn  mower  squeaked 
and  rattled  its  emphasis.  "  Und  de  olt  lady,  she 
iss  gone ! " 

All  the  sparrows  watching  the  laboring  trio  from 
safe  vantage  points  now  rose  with  a  soft  whirr  of 
wings  and  a  quick  chorus  of  twitters  as  Farvel 
opened  the  door  from  the  Church  and  came  out.  A 
long  black  gown  hung  to  his  feet,  but  this  only 
served  to  accentuate  the  paleness  of  his  newly- 
shaven  cheeks.  "  Ah,  fine !  "  he  greeted  kindly  ; 
"  the  yard  is  beginning  to  look  first-class."  Then  as 
the  bearer  of  the  telephone  message  now  projected 
himself  once  more  between  the  curtains  of  the 
drawing-room,  this  time  to  proffer  a  package,  "  Not 
for  me,  is  it,  my  boy? — Get  it,  Ikey,  please."  He 
sat  down  wearily. 

Ikey  moved  to  obey,  squinting  back  over  a 
shoulder  at  the  clergyman  in  some  concern.  But 
the  package  in  hand,  he  puzzled  over  that  instead 


Apron-Strings  239 

as  he  came  back.  "  It  says  on  it  *  Mr.  Farvel/  " 
he  declared.     "  Ain't  it  so?  " 

"  Open  it,  old  chap,"  bade  Farvel,  without 
looking  up. 

Ikey  needed  no  urging;  and  his  companions,  once 
again  welcoming  an  interruption,  gathered  to 
watch.  Off  came  a  paper  wrapping,  disclosing  a 
box.  Off  came  the  cover  of  the  box,  disclosing — 
in  a  gorgeous  confection  of  silk,  lace,  and  tulle, 
with  flowers  in  her  flaxen  hair,  and  blue  eyes  that 
were  alternately  opening  and  shutting  with  almost 
human  effect  as  Ikey  moved  the  box — a  large  and 
remarkably  handsome  lady  doll. 

''  Oy,  ich  chalesh! "  cried  Ikey,  thrown  back  upon 
his  Yiddish  in  the  amazement  of  discovery. 

Farvel  sprang  up,  manifestly  embarrassed, 
reached  for  the  box,  and  put  it  out  of  sight 
behind  him  as  he  sat  again.  "  Oh!— Oh,  that's  all 
right,"  he  stammered.     "  It's  for  Barbara." 

"  Bar-bar-a  ?  "  drawled  the  boy.  Then  following 
a  pause,  during  which  the  trio  exchanged  glances, 
"  A  little  girl,  she  comes  here?  " 

"Yes,  Ikey;  yes. — Have  you  boys  dusted  the 
drawing-room?  You  know  Dora's  not  here 
today." 


240  Apron-Strings 

"  No,  sir."  Peter  and  Henry  backed  dutifully 
toward  the  door  of  the  Rectory. 

But  Ikey  stood  his  ground.  "  Does  de  little  girl 
come  by  de  basket  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  No,  son;  no.  Dora  will  bring  hen^—Now  run 
along  like  a  good  chap.*' 

Ikey  backed  a  few  steps.  "  Does — does  she  come 
to  de  Orphanage  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  No.  She's  not  an  orphan. — You  see  that  Peter 
and  Henry  put  everything  in  shape,  won't  you  ?  " 

At  this,  Peter  and  Henry  disappeared  promptly. 
But  Ikey  only  backed  another  step  or  two.  '*  Den 
she's  got  a  mutter?  "  he  ventured. 

"  Oh,  yes — yes. — Be  sure  and  dust  the  library." 

Ikey  gave  way  another  foot.  "  Und  also  a 
fader?" 

"  Er — why — yes." 

Now  Ikey  nodded,  and  turned  away.  "  He  ain't 
so  sure,"  he  observed  sagely,  "  aboudt  de  fader." 

At  this  moment,  loud  voices  sounded  from  the 
drawing-room — Henry's,  expostulating;  next,  the 
thin  soprano  of  Peter;  then  a  woman's,  "Where 
is  he,  I  say  ?  I  want  to  see  him ! "  And  she 
came  bursting  from  the  house,  almost  upsetting 
Ikey. 


Apron-Strings  241 

It  was  Mrs.  Balcome,  looking  exceedingly  wrath- 
ful. She  puffed  her  way  across  the  grass,  clutch- 
ing to  her  the  unfortunate  Babette,  and  dragging 
(though  she  had  just  arrived)  at  the  crumpled  upper 
of  a  long  kid  glove,  much  as  if  she  were  pulling  it 
on  preparatory  to  a  fight.  "  Mr.  Farvel," — ^he 
had  risen  politely — "I  have  come  to  take  away 
the  presents  and  other  things  belonging  to  us. 
Since  you  have  seen  fit  to  turn  my  best  friend  out 
of  her  home,  naturally  the  wedding  cannot  be 
solemnized  here." 

Farvel  bowed,  reddening  with  anger.  "  Wallace 
Milo's  wedding  cannot  be  solemnized  here,"  he  said 
quietly. 

''/«-deed!" 

Ikey  had  entered  with  another  box.  She  received 
it,  scolding  as  she  put  down  the  dog  and  pulled 
at  the  fastening  of  the  package.  "  Oh,  such  lack 
of  charity!  Such  shameless  lack  of  ordinary  con- 
sideration! What  do  you  care  that  the  wedding 
must  take  place  at  some  hotel !  And  you  know  these 
decorations  won't  keep!  And  it's  a  clergyman 
who's  showing  such  a  spirit !     That's  what  makes  it 

more  terrible!     A  man  who  pretends "     Busy 

with  the  box,  she  had  failed  to  see  that  Farvel 


242  Apron-Strings 

was  no  longer  present.  Now  she  whirled  about, 
looking  for  him.  "  Oh,  such  impudence !  Such 
impudence !  "  she  stormed. 

Ikey  indicated  the  package.  "  De  man,  he  said, 
*  Put  it  on  ice/  "  he  cautioned. 

"  Ice  ?  "    Mrs.  Balcome  stared.    "  What's  in  it  ?  " 

"  It  felt  like  somet'ing  for  a  little  girl." 

With  a  muttered  exclamation,  she  threw  the  box 
upon  the  grass.  "  Is  Miss  Susan  here  ? "  she 
demanded. 

"  I  don't  know."  Ikey's  eyes  were  clear  pools 
of  truth. 

"  Have  my  daughter  and  her  father  arrived  yet  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  have  they  telephoned  ?  "  Mrs.  Balcome 
strove  to  curb  her  rising  irritation. 

"  I  don't  know." 

Patience  could  bear  no  more.  "What's  the 
matter  with  you?"  she  cried.  "Don't  you  know 
anything?" 

"  Not'ing,"  boasted  Ikey.  "  I  promised,  now, 
dat  I  vouldn't,  und  I  keep  my  vord !  " 

Mrs.  Balcome  seized  him  by  a  sleeve  of  his  faded 
blue  waist.  "  You  promised  who  ?  "  she  screeched, 
forgetting  grammar   in  her  anger.     "  I'll   report 


Apron-Strings  243 

you   to   Mrs.    Milo,    that's   what   I'll   do!     How 


dare- 


A  hearty  voice  interrupted.  "  Good-morning, 
my  boy!  Good-morning!"  Balcome  grinned 
broadly,  pleased  at  this  opportunity  of  contrasting 
his  cordiality  with  the  harshness  of  his  better  half. 

Ikey  was  not  slow  in  recognizing  opportunity 
either.     "  Goot-mornin',"    he    returned,    ostenta* 

tiously  rubbing  an  arm. 

"Is  Miss  Milo  at  home?"  inquired  Balcome, 
with  exaggerated  politeness,  enjoying  the  evident 
embarrassment  of  the  lady  present,  who — not  un- 
like Lot's  wife— had  suddenly  turned,  as  it  were, 
into  a  frozen  pillar. 

"  I  don't  know,"  chanted  Ikey. 

"  Well,  is  Mr.  Farvel  at  home?" 

Now,  Ikey  stretched  out  weary  hand.  "Oh, 
please,"  he  begged,  "don't  make  me  lie  no  more! " 

"Ha-a-a-a?"  cried  Balcome. 

"  What?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Balcome. 

Ikey  nodded,  shaking  that  injured  finger.  "  To 
lie  ain't  Christian,"  he  reminded  slyly. 

Balcome  guffawed.  But  Mrs.  Balcome,  visited 
with  a  dire  thought,  looked  suddenly  concerned. 

"  Tell  me :  "—she  came  heaving  toward  Ikey  once 


244  Apron-Strings 

more;  "did  my  daughter  stay  last  night  with  her 
father  ?  "  And  as  Ikey  stared,  not  understanding  the 
system  of  family  telephoning,  "  Did — my — daugh- 
ter— stay — last — night — with — her — father  ?  " 

"  But  vy  ask  me  ?  "  complained  Ikey.  "  Let  him 
lie !     Let  him !  "     And  he  started  churchward. 

"  Wait !  "  Balcome  was  bellowing  now.  "  Where 
is  my  daughter?" 

"Didn't  she  stay  with  her  father?"  repeated 
Mrs.  Balcome. 

"Didn't  she  stay  with  her  mother?"  cried 
Balcome. 

Ikey  did  not  need  to  reply.  For  one  question 
had  answered  the  other.  With  an  "Oh!  Oh!"  of 
apprehension,  Mrs.  Balcome  sank,  a  dead  weight, 
to  a  bench. 

"  Where  is  she,  I  say  ?  Where  is  she  ?  "  Now 
Balcome  had  the  unfortunate  Ikey  by  a  faded  blue 
sleeve.  He  shook  him  so  that  all  the  curls  on  his 
head  bobbed  madly.     "  Open  your  mouth !  " 

"  I  don't  know !  "  denied  Ikey,  desperately. 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  Balcome  let  him  go,  and 
paced  the  grass,  clutching  off  his  hat  and  pounding 
at  a  knee  with  it. 

"  Oh,  what  has  happened !   What  has  happened  I " 


Apron-Strings  245 

Mrs.  Balcome  rocked  in  her  misery.  "  Oh,  and  we 
had  words  last  night — bitter  words !     Oh !  " 

At  this  juncture,  out  from  between  the  drawing- 
room  curtains  Henry  appeared,  balancing  himself 
on  his  middle,  and  handed  down  still  another 
package.  Ikey  ran  to  receive  it,  and  as  if  to 
silence  the  mourning  with  which  the  Close  re- 
sounded, hastened  to  thrust  the  package  into  the 
lap  of  the  unhappy  lady  on  the  bench. 

The  result  was  to  increase  Mrs.  Balcome*s 
sorrow.  "  Oh,  my  poor  Hattie !  "  she  wept.  "  My 
poor  child !  "  She  pulled  at  the  cord  about  the 
bundle,  and  Balcome  halted  behind  her  to  look  on. 
"  Here  is  another  gift  for  her  wedding !  Oh,  how 
pitiful!  How  pitiful!  A  present  from  someone 
who  loves  her !  Who  thought  the  dear  child  would 
be  happy!  Something  sweet  and  dainty" — the 
wrapping  paper  was  torn  off  by  now — "  to  brighten 
her  new  home !     Something " 

A  cover  came  off.  And  there,  full  in  Mrs.  Bal- 
come's  sight,  lay  a  good-sized,  and  very  rosy  Kewpie 
— blessed  with  little  raiment  but  many  charms. 

"  Baa-a-a-ah !  " — a  gesture  of  disgust,  and  the 
Kewpie  was  cast  upon  the. lawn. 

Wallace  came   hurrying   from   the   house.     He 


246  Apron-Strings 

looked  more  bent  than  usual,  and  if  possible  more 
pale.  His  clothes  indicated  that  he  had  slept  in 
them. 

Balcome  charged  toward  him.  "  Where's  my 
daughter?"  he  asked,  with  a  head-to-foot  look, 
much  as  if  he  suspicioned  the  younger  man 
with  having  Hattie  concealed  somewhere  about 
him. 

"  Wallace !  "  Mrs.  Balcome  held  out  stout  arms 
to  the  newcomer. 

Wallace  went  to  her.  "  I  tried  and  tried  to  tele- 
phone her,"  he  answered.  "  And  they  told  me  they 
don't  know  where  she  is.  So  I've  come. — Oh,  is  it 
all  right?  What  does  she  say?  I  want  to  see 
her!" 

"  She's  gone ! "  informed  Balcome,  his  voice 
hollow. 

"  She's  gone !  She's  gone ! "  echoed  Mrs.  Bal- 
come.    She  shook  the  stone  bench. 

"  Gone?  "  Wallace  clapped  a  hand  to  his  fore- 
head. 

"  She's  wandered  away ! "  sobbed  Mrs.  Balcome. 
"  Half-crazed  with  it  all !  Heart-broken !  Heart- 
broken!" 

With  a  muffled  growl,  Balcome  once  more  fell 


Apron-Strings  247 

upon  Ikey,  who  had  been  watching  and  Hstening 
from  a  discreet  distance.  "  Where  is  Miss  Milo, 
I  say ! "  he  demanded  as  he  swooped. 

But  Ikey's  determination  did  not  fail  him,  though 
his  teeth  chattered.  "  I— I— d-d-don' t  know!"  he 
protested  for  the  tenth  time. 

"  Oh,  terrible !  Terrible !  "—this  in  a  fresh  burst 
from  Mrs.  Balcome.  "Oh,  what  did  I  say  what 
I  did  for!" 

"Don't  cry!  Don't  cry!"  comforted  Wallace. 
"  We'll  hunt  for  her.     Police,  and  detectives " 

A  crash  of  piano  notes  interrupted  from  the 
drawing-room.  Then  through  open  door  and 
windows  floated  the  first  bars  of  "  Comin'  Thro* 
the  Rye" — with  an  accompaniment  in  rag-time. 
As  one  the  group  in  the  Close  turned  toward  the 
house. 

"  Hattie  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Balcome. 

"Hattie!"  faltered  Wallace. 

"  Hattie ! " — it  was  a  crisp  bass  summons  from 
Hattie's  father. 

Hattie  put  her  head  out  at  the  door.  "Good- 
morning,  mother !  "  she  called  cheerily.  "  Good- 
morning,  dad!     Good-morning, — Wallace." 

"Where  did  you  spend  last  night?"  asked  Mrs. 


248  Apron- Strings 

Balcome,  rising.  Anger  took  the  place  of  grief, 
for  Hattie  was  wearing  an  adorable  house  frock 
culled  from  her  trousseau — a  frock  combined  of 
rose  voile  and  French  gingham.  And  such  a 
selection  on  this  particular  morning 

Hattie  sauntered  to  the  sun-dial.  "  Last  night?  '* 
She  pointed  to  that  upper  guest-room  window. 

Her  mother  was  shocked.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  that  you  slept  here! " 

"  When  the  telephone  wasn't  ringing," — whereat 
Ikey  grinned. 

"  You  slept  here  unchaperonedf  " 

"  Oh,  Sue  was  home." 

"Oh,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Hattie! 
You're  not  like  other  girls ! " 

"Well,  have  I  been  raised  like  other 
girls?" 

At  this,  Mrs.  Balcome  became  fully  roused. 
"  You'll  pack  your  things  and  come  right  out  of 
that  house!  "  she  cried.     "  Do  you  hear  me?  " 

"  Yes,  mother. — Ikey  dear,  find  Mr.  Farvel  and 
tell  him  his  breakfast  is  ready."  Then  with  a  pro- 
prietary air,  "  And  Miss  Balcome  says  he  must  eat 
it  while  it's  hot." 

Wallace  straightened,  his  face  suddenly  flushing. 


Apron-Strings  249 

"  Dear  me,  aren't  we  concerned  about  Mr. 
Farvel's  breakfast ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Balcome, 
mockingly. 

"  We  are." 

"  But  not  a  word  for  this  poor  boy.  One  would 
think  you  were  going  to  marry  Farvel  instead  of 
Wallace." 

"  But — am  I  going  to  marry  Wallace?  " 

Wallace  swayed  toward  her.  "  Oh,  you  can't 
— you  can't  turn  me  down !  " 

"  Ah,  Wallace ! "  she  said  sadly. 

"  Mrs.  Balcome,  you  don't  think  I  deserve 
this?" 

"  Now  don't  be  hasty,  Hattie,"  advised  her 
mother.  *'  Everything's  ready.  Our  friends  are 
coming.     Are  you  going  to  send  them  away  ?  " 

**  Messages  have  gone — to  tell  everyone  not  to 
come." 

"  Oh !  "  Wallace  turned  away,  his  head  sunk 
between  his  shoulders. 

"  What  will  Buffalo  think  of  you ! "  cried  Mrs. 
Balcome. 

*'  Buffalo,"  answered  Hattie,  "  will  have  a  chance 
to  chatter  about  me,  and  that  will  give  you  and 
dad  a  rest." 


250  Apron-Strings 

"  Are  you  going  to  send  back  all  those  beautiful 
wedding  presents  ?  " 

Balcome,  relieved  of  his  worry  over  Hattie,  had 
been  strolling  about,  pulling  at  a  cigar.  Now  he 
greeted  this  last  question  with  a  roar  of  laughter. 
"  Oh,  Hattie,  can  you  beat  it !     Oh,  that's  a  good 


one  I 

Mrs.  Balcome  fixed  him  with  an  angry  eye. 
"  Doesn't  he  show  what  he  is  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  To 
laugh  at  such  a  time ! " 

"  Beautiful  wedding  presents ! "  went  on  Bal- 
come.    "Oh,  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  No  sentiment ! "  added  his  wife.  "  No 
feeling!" 

Hattie  appealed  to  Wallace.  "  Oh,  haven't  I 
had  my  share  of  quarreling?  "  she  asked  plaintively. 

"  But  we  wouldn't  quarrel !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  would.  I'd  remember — and  then 
trouble.     I'd  always  feel  that  you  and " 

"  Hattie !  "  warned  her  mother.  "  You  can't 
discuss  that  matter." 

"Why  not?" 

"  You  ask  that !  Doesn't  your  good  taste — your 
modesty — tell  you  that  it's  not  proper  ?  " 

"  Oh  !--I  mustn't  discuss  it.     But  if  Wallace  and 


Apron-Strings  251 

I  were  to  marry  at  twelve  o'clock  today,  we  could 
discuss  it  at  one  o'clock — and  quarrel !  " 

"  Mr.  Balcome !  "  entreated  Wallace. 

Balcome  deposited  his  cigar  ashes  on  the  sun- 
dial. "  My  boy,"  he  said,  *'  if  a  man  has  to  dodge 
crockery  because  his  wife's  jealous  about  nothing, 
what'll  it  be  like  if  she's  got  the  goods  on  him?" 

"  There  he  goes ! "  triumphed  Mrs.  Balcome. 
"  It's  just  what  I  expected !  "  And  to  Hattie,  who 
was  admiring  the  Kewpie,  "  Put  that  down ! " 
Then  to  Wallace,  "  Oh,  she  gets  more  like  her 
father  every  day !  Now  drop  that !  " — for  Hattie, 
having  let  fall  the  Kewpie,  had  picked  up  the 
flaxen-haired  doll.  "  Wallace,  she  never  came  to 
this  decision  alone ! " 

"  Alan  Farvel ! "  accused  Wallace,  hotly. 

Hattie  turned  on  him.  "  You — you  dare  to  say 
that!" 

"  Oh,  I  knew  you'd  stick  up  for  him !  You  like 
him." 

"  He's  good !  He's  fine,  and  big !  He's  a  man  I 
— and  a  clean  man." 

"  I  meant  Sue  Milo."  Mrs.  Balcome  interposed 
her  bulk  between  them. 

"She's  not  to  blame!"  defended  Hattie.    "On 


252  Apron-Strings 

the  contrary — she  wouldn't  let  me  decide  quickly. 
We  talked  about  it  'way  into  the  night." 

Balcome  twitched  a  rose  voile  sleeve.  "  Don't 
mind  her,  Hattie,"  he  counseled.  "  That's  the  kind 
of  wild  thing  she  says  about  me." 

"  Can  you  deny  that  Susan  has  influenced  you?  " 
persisted  Mrs.  Balcome.  "  Can  you  truthfully  say 
— Oh! "  For  over  the  wall,  and  over  the  little  white 
door,  had  come  a  large,  gay-striped  rubber  ball.  It 
struck  the  grass,  bounced,  and  came  rolling  to  Mrs. 
Balcome's  feet. 

"  Here  she  is !  "  whispered  Balcome. 

"  Sneaking  in !  "  accused  his  wife. 

Now,  the  white  door  swung  wide  to  the  sound 
of  motor  chugging,  and  a  hop  came  trun- 
dling across  the  lawn.  Next,  Sue  appeared,  back- 
ing, for  her  arms  were  full  of  bundles.  She 
dropped  one  or  two  as  she  came.  "  Oh,  there 
you  go  again ! "  she  laughed.  "  Oh,  butter- 
fingers!" 

"  Goo-00-ood-morning ! "  began  Mrs.  Balcome, 
portentously. 

Sue  turned  a  startled  face  over  a  shoulder.  And 
at  once  she  was  only  a  small  girl  caught  in  naughti- 
ness.     ''  Oh, — er — ah — good-morning,"    she  stam- 


Apron-Strings  253 

mered.  "  I— er— I've  got  everything  but  the 
kitchen  stove."  She  made  to  a  bench  and  let  all 
her  purchases  fall.  '*  Mrs.  Balcome, — how — how 
is  mother  ?  " 

"  You  care  a  lot  about  your  poor  mother ! " 
retorted  Mrs.  Balcome.  "  You'll  send  her  gray 
hairs  in  sorrow  to  the  grave !  " 

Balcome  winked  at  Sue.  "  Hebrews,  ten,  thirty- 
six,"  he  reminded  roguishly.  "  *  For  ye  have  need 
of  patience.' " 

"  Well,  dear  lady,  just  what  have  I  done  ?  "  Sue 
sank  among  the  packages. 

"  I  say  you're  responsible  for  this — this  unfor- 
tunate turn  of  affairs." 

"  If  you'd  only  let  things  alone  yesterday,"  broke 
in  Wallace;  "  if  you'd  stayed  at  home,  and  minded 
your  own  affairs." 

"  So  you  could  have  deceived  Hattie." 

"  No !  You've  no  right  to  call  it  deception. 
That's  one  of  your  new-woman  ideas.  This  is 
something  that  happened  long  ago,  before  I  ever 
met  Hattie — and  it's  sacred " 

Hattie  burst  out  laughing.  "  Sacred !  "  she  cried. 
"Of  course — an  affair  with  the  wife  of  your 
host!" 


254  Apron-Strings 

"  Hattie ! "  warned  Mrs.  Balcome. 

But  Hattie  ignored  her  mother.  "  What  a  dis- 
gusting argument ! "  she  went  on.  "  What  a  cow- 
ardly excuse! " 

Matters  were  taking  a  most  undesirable  turn. 
To  change  their  course,  Mrs.  Balcome  swung  round 
upon  Sue.  "Why  did  you  send  Dora  for  that 
child?" 

"  What  has  the  poor  child  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  Ah !  You  see,  Wallace  ?  It  was  all  done  pur- 
posely. So  that  Hattie  would  decide  against  you. 
What  does  Susan  Milo  care  that  you'll  be  mortified? 
That  Hattie's  life  will  be  spoiled?"  (Hattie 
smiled.)     "That  Fll  have  to  explain  and  lie?" 

"  Ha !     Ha !— Lie !  "  chuckled  Balcome. 

"  Don't  you  see  that  she's  not  thinking  of  you, 
Hattie  ?  That  you'll  have  to  pack  up  and  go  home  ? 
—Oh,  it's  dreadful !     Dreadful !  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Hattie.  "  It  would  be  dreadful 
— to  have  to  go  home." 

Mrs.  Balcome  did  not  seem  to  hear.  She  was 
waving  a  hand  at  the  bundles.  "  And  what,  may 
I  ask,  are  all  these?  " 

"These?" 

"  You  heard  me." 


Apron-Strings  255 

"Well,  this — for,  oh,  she  must  have  the  best 
welcome  that  we  can  give  her,  the  darling! — 
this " 


"  All  cooked  up  for  Mr.  Farvel's  benefit,  I 
suppose,"  interjected  Mrs.  Balcome. 

*'  Of  course.  Who  cares  anything  about  the 
child !  "  Sue  laughed. 

"Oh,  your  mother  has  told  me  of  your  aspira- 
tions,"— this  with  scornful  significance. 

"  Mm ! — This  is  socks — oh,  such  cunning  socks — 
with  little  turnover  cuffs  on  'em ! "  Sue's  good- 
humor  was  unshaken.  "  And  this  is  sash  ribbon. 
And  this  is  roller  skates."  She  lifted  one  package 
after  the  other.  "And  a  game.  And  a  white 
rabbit.  And  a  woolly  sheep — it  winds  up ! "  She 
gave  it  to  Hattie.  "  And  a  hat — with  roses  on  it ! 
And  rompers — I  do  hope  she's  not  too  big  for 
rompers!  These  are  blue,  with  a  white  collar. 
And  '  Don  Quixote  ' — fine  pictures — it'll  keep. 
And  look !  " — it  was  a  train  of  cars.  "  Isn't  it  a 
darling?  I  could  play  with  it  myself!  Just  ob- 
serve that  smokestack!  And — well,  she  can  give 
it  to  her  first  beau.  And,  behold,  a  lizard!  Its 
picture  is  on  the  box ! "  She  waved  it.  "  Made 
in  the  U.  S.  A.!*' 


256    •  Apron-Strings 

Mrs.  Balcome  had  been  watching  with  an  ex- 
pression not  so  irritable  as  it  was  wearied.  "  You 
are  pathetic !  "  she  said  finally.    "  Simply  pathetic !  " 

"Look!"  invited  Sue,  holding  up  a  duck.  **  It 
quacks ! " 

But  Mrs.  Balcome  had  turned  on  Hattie,  and 
caught  the  sheep  from  her  hand.  "  You ! "  she 
scolded;  "—for  the  child  of  that—that " 

Hattie  held  up  a  warning  finger.  "  Don't  criti- 
cize the  lady  before  Wallace/'  she  cautioned. 

Slowly  Wallace  straightened,  and  came  about. 
"Well,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  guess  that's  the  end 
of  it."  He  went  to  Sue,  holding  out  a  hand.  "  Sue, 
I'm  going " 

"  Go  to  mother,  Wallace.     I'll  see  you  later." 

"  Hattie !  Hattie !  "  importuned  her  mother. 
"Tell  him  not  to  go!" 

"  No,"  said  Hattie,  firmly.  "  I  was  willing  to  do 
something  wrong — and  all  this  has  saved  me  from 
it.  I've  never  cared  for  Wallace  the  right  way. 
He  knows  it.  I  was  only  marrying  him  to  get 
away  from  home." 

"  Hear  that !  "  cried  Mrs.  Balcome. 

"  No, — you  don't  love  me,"  agreed  Wallace. 

"I  don't  believe  I've  ever  loved  you,"  the  girl 


Apron-Stnngs  257 

went  on;  "only — believe  me! — I  didn't  know  it  till 
— till  I  came  here." 

"  I  understand."  Out  of  a  pocket  of  his  vest 
he  took  a  ring — a  narrow  chased  band  of  gold. 
"  Will — will  you  keep  this  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  was 
for  you." 

"  Some  other  woman,  Wallace,  will  make  you 
happy."  She  made  no  move  to  take  the  ring,  only 
backed  a  step. 

Quickly  Sue  put  out  her  hand.  "  Let  me  take  it, 
dear  brother.  And  try  not  to  feel  too  bad."  She 
had  on  a  long  coat.  She  dropped  the  ring  into  a 
pocket. 

"  And,  Sue,  I  want  to  tell  you  " — he  spoke  as  if 
they  were  alone  together — "  that  I'm  ashamed  of 
what  I  said  to  you  yesterday — that  you're  quick  to 
think  wrong.  You're  not.  And  you  were  right. 
And  you're  the  best  sister  a  man  ever  had." 

"  Never  mind,"  comforted  Sue.     "  Never  mind." 

He  tried  to  smile.  "  This — this  is  chickens  com- 
ing home  to  roost,  isn't  it?"  he  asked;  turned, 
fighting  against  tears,  and  with  a  smothered  fare- 
well entered  the  house. 

Mrs.  Balcome  wiped  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  poor 
Wallace !    Poor  boy !  "  she  mourned.    And  to  Sue, 


258  Apron-Strings 

"  I  hope  you're  satisfied !  You  started  out  yester- 
day to  stop  this  wedding — your  own  brother's 
wedding! — and  you've  succeeded.  I  can't  fathom 
your  motives — except  that  some  women,  when  they 
fail  to  land  husbands  of  their  own,  simply  hate 
to  see  anybody  else  have  one.  It's  the  envy  of  the 
— soured  spinster." 

Sue  was  busily  arranging  the  toys.  "  So  I  can't 
land  a  husband,  eh?  "  she  laughed. 

"But  your  mother  tells  me  that  you're  cham- 
pioning the  unmarried  alliance,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Balcome. 

"  You  mean  Laura  Farvel,  of  course.  Well,  not 
exactly.  You  see,  neither  mother  nor  I  know  any- 
thing against  Mrs.  Farvel  except  what  Mrs.  Farvel 
has  said  herself.  But  one  thing  is  certain :  even  an 
unmarried  alliance,  as  you  call  it,  is  more  decent 
than  a  marriage  without  love." 

"  Oh,  slam !  "     Balcome  exploded  in  pure  joy. 

"How  dare  you!"  cried  Mrs.  Balcome,  dividing 
an  angry  look  between  her  husband  and  Sue. 

"  And,"  Sue  went  on  serenely,  "  when  it  comes 
to  that,  I  respect  an  unmarried  woman  with  a  child 
fully  as  much  as  I  do  a  married  woman  with  a 
poodle." 


Apron-Strings  259 

"Wow!*'  shouted  Balcome. 

"  I  think,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Balcome,  suddenly 
mindful  of  the  existence  of  her  own  poodle,  and 
looking  calmly  about  for  Babette,  "  I  think  that 
you  have  softening  of  the  brain." 

"  Well," — Sue  was  tinkering  with  the  smoke- 
stack— "  I'd  rather  have  softening  of  the  brain  than 
hardening  of  the  heart.'* 

"  Isn't  she  funny?  "  demanded  Balcome,  to  draw 
his  wife's  fire.  "  She  doesn't  dare  to  stand  up  for 
Wallace  you'll  notice,  Sue, — though  she'd  like  to. 
But  she  can't  because  she's  raved  against  that  kind 
of  thing  for  years.  So  she  has  to  abuse  somebody 
else." 

"  There's  a  man  for  you !  "  cried  his  better  half. 
"To  stand  by  and  hear  his  own  wife  insulted! — 
the  mother  of  his  child — and  join  in  it!  How 
infamous !     How  base !  " 

Satisfied  with  results,  Balcome  consulted  his 
watch.  "Well,  I'm  a  busy  man,"  he  observed, 
and  kissed  Hattie. 

"  Where  is  your  father  going?  "  demanded  Mrs. 
Balcome. 

"Where  is  father  going?"  telephoned  Sue, 
taking  off  hat  and  coat. 


26o  Apron-Strings 

"  Buffalo." 

Mrs.  Balcome  threw  up  the  hand  that  was  not 
engaged  with  the  dog.  "  Oh,  what  shall  we  say  to 
Buffalo !  '*  she  said  tragically.  "  Oh,  how  can  I 
ever  go  back !  " 

"  Mr.  Balcome,  do  you  want  to  settle  on  some 
explanation  ?  " 

"Advise  Hattie's  mother" — Balcome  shook  a 
warning  finger — "that  for  a  change  she'd  better 
tell  the  truth." 

"Oh!"— the  shot  told.  "As  if  I  don't  always 
tell  it — always !  "  Then  to  Sue,  "  Suppose  we  say 
that  the  bridegroom  is  sick  ?  " 

Inarticulate  with  mirth,  Balcome  gave  Sue  a 
parting  pat  on  the  shoulder  and  started  away. 

"But,  John!" 

Astounded  at  being  thus  directly  addressed,  and 
before  he  could  bethink  himself  not  to  seem  to  have 
heard,  Balcome  brought  short,  silently  appealing  to 
Sue  for  her  opinion  of  this  extraordinary  state  of 
affairs. 

For  Sue  knew.  There  was  only  one  thing  that 
could  have  so  moved  Mrs.  Balcome.  "  Lady  dear," 
she  inquired  pleasantly,  "  how  much  money  do  you 
want?" 


Apron-Strings  261 

"  Oh,  four  hundred  will  do."  And  as  Balcome 
dove  into  a  capacious  pocket  and  brought  forth  a 
roll,  which  Sue  handed  to  her,  *'  One  hundred,  two 

hundred, — three — four '*      She    counted    in    a 

careful,  inquiring  tone  which  implied  that  Balcome 
might  have  failed  to  hand  over  the  sum  she  sug- 
gested. "  And  now,  Hattie,  get  your  things  to- 
gether. We  want  to  be  gone  by  the  time  that  child 
comes." 

"  Oh,  mother,"  returned  Hattie,  crossly,  "  you're 
beginning  to  treat  me  exactly  as  Mrs.  Milo  treats 
Sue." 

No  argument  followed.  For  at  this  moment  a 
door  banged  somewhere  in  the  Rectory,  then  came 
the  sound  of  running  feet;  and  Mrs.  Milo's  voice, 
shrill  with  anger,  called  from  the  drawing-room: 

"Susan!" 

*' Mother?"  said  Sue. 

Hattie  and  her  father  gravitated  toward  each 
other  in  mutual  sympathy.  Then  joined  forces  in 
a  defensive  stand  behind  Sue. 

"Now,  you'll  catch  it,  Miss  Susan!"  promised 
Mrs.  Balcome.  "  Here's  someone  who'll  know  how 
to  attend  to  youl" 

"  My  dear  friend,"  answered  Sue,  "  since  early 


262  Apron-Strings 

yesterday  afternoon,  here's  a  person  that's  been 
calHng  her  soul  her  own." 

*'  Susan !  " — the  cry  was  nearer,  and  sharp. 

With  elaborate  calmness,  Sue  took  up  the  Kewpie, 
seated  herself,  and  prepared  to  look  as  independent 
and  indifferent  as  possible. 

"Susan!— Oh,  help!" 

It  brought  Sue  to  her  feet.  There  was  terror  in 
the  cry,  and  wild  appeal. 

The  next  moment,  white-faced,  and  walking  un- 
steadily, Mrs.  Milo  came  from  the  drawing-room. 
"Oh,  help  me!"  she  begged.  "I  didn't  tell  her 
anything!  I  didn't!  I  didn't!  How  could  she 
find  us !  That  terrible  woman ! "  She  made 
weakly  to  the  stone  bench  that  was  nearest,  and 
sat — as  Tottie  followed  her  into  sight  and  halted 
in  the  doorway,  leaning  carelessly. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Miss  Mignon  St.  Clair  was  a  lady  of  resource. 
Given  a  telephone  number,  and  a  glimpse  of  a 
gentleman  who  was  without  doubt  of  the  cloth, 
and  she  had  only  to  open  the  Classified  Telephone 
Directory  at  "  Churches,"  run  down  the  list  until 
she  came  to  the  number  Mrs.  Milo  had  given  her, 
and  the  thing  was  done.  She  disregarded  Ikey's 
repeated  "  I  don't  knows  "  over  the  wire,  donned 
an  afternoon  dress  for  her  morning's  work  (Tottie 
was  ever  beforehand  with  the  clock  in  the  matter 
of  apparel),  and  set  forth  for  the  Rectory,  arriving 
— by  very  good  fortune — as  Mrs.  Milo  herself  was 
alighting  out  of  a  taxicab. 

Now  she  grinned  impudently  at  the  group  in 
the  Close.  "  How-dy-do,  people ! "  she  hailed. 
" — Well,  nobody  seems  to  know  me  today!  FU 
introduce  myself — Miss  Mignon  St.  Clair.*'  She 
bowed.  Then  to  the  figure  crouched  on  the  bench, 
"  Say,  how  about  it,  Lady  Milo?  " 

a63 


264  Apron-Strings 

"  Oh,  you  must  go !  '*  cried  Mrs.  Milo,  rising. 
"You  must!     I'll  see  you — I  promise — ^but  go!" 

Tottie  came  out*  "  Oh,  wa-a-ait  a  minute !  Why, 
you  ain't  half  as  hospitable  as  I  am.  I  entertained 
the  bunch  of  you  yesterday,  and  let  you  raise  the 
old  Ned."  She  sauntered  aside  to  take  a  look  at 
the  dial. 

"Oh!  Oh!"  Mrs.  Milo  dropped  back  to  the 
bench,  shutting  out  the  sight  of  her  visitor  with 
both  trembling  hands. 

Sue  went  to  stand  across  the  dial  from  Tottie. 
"  What  can  we  do  for  you  ?  "  she  asked  pleasantly. 

Tottie  addressed  Mrs.  Milo.  "  Your  daughter's 
a  lady,"  she  declared  emphatically.  And  to  Sue, 
"  Nothin'  's  been  said  about  squarin*  with  me." 

"Squaring?" 

"  Damages." 

"  Damages  ?  " — more  puzzled  than  ever. 

But  Balcome  understood.  He  advanced  upon 
Tottie,  shaking  a  fist.     "You  mean  blackmail!" 

"  Now  go  slow  on  that ! "  counseled  Tottie, 
dangerously.  "  I  aim  to  keep  a  respectable 
house." 

"  And  Fm  sure  you  do,"  returned  Sue,  mollify- 
ingly. 


Apron-Strings  265 

It  warmed  Tottie  into  a  confidence.  "  Dearie," 
she  began,  "  I  room  the  swellest  people  in  the  whole 
perfession.  That's  why  I'm  so  mad.  Here  I  took 
in  that  Clare  Crosby.  And  what  did  she  do  to  me? 
— '  Aunt  Clare ! '  Think  of  me  swallerin'  such 
stuff!  Well,  you  bet  Fm  goin'  to  let  Felix  Hull 
know  all  there  is  to  know,  and — the  kid  is  big 
enough  to  understand." 

Now  Sue  put  out  a  quick  hand.  "  Ah,  but  you 
haven't  the  heart  to  hurt  a  child !  '* 

"  Haven't  I !  You  just  wait  till  I  have  my  talk 
with  her  '  Aunt  Clare  ' !  " 

"  We  haven't  been  able  to  locate  her." 

Tottie's  face  fell.  "  No  ?  Then  I  know  a  way 
to  git  even,  and  to  git  my  pay.  There's  the  news- 
papers— y'  think  they  won't  grab  at  this  ?  "  She 
jerked  her  red  head  toward  the  wedding-bell. 
**  Just  a  'phone,  *  Long  lost  wife  is  found,  or  how 
a  singer  broke  up  a  weddin'.'  " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  Hattie  raised  a  frightened  face  to 
that  upper  window  of  the  study. 

"  By  Heaven !  "  stormed  Balcome,  stamping  the 
grass. 

"  Now,  I  know  you're  joking ! "  declared  Sue. 
"Yes,  you  are!" 


266  Apron-Strings 

"Yes,  I  ain't!'' 

"Ah,  you  can't  fool  me!  No,  indeed!  You 
wouldn't  think  of  doing  such  a  thing — a  woman 
who  stands  so  high  in  her  profession ! " 

Tottie's  eyelids  fluttered,  as  if  at  a  light  too 
brilliant  to  endure;  and  she  caught  her  breath  like 
one  who  has  drunk  an  over-generous  draught. 
"  Aw — er — um."  Her  hand  went  up  to  her  throat. 
She  swallowed.  Then  recovering  herself,  "  Dearie, 
you're  not  only  a  lady,  but  you're  discernin' — that's 
the  word! — discernin'."  She  laid  a  hand  appre- 
ciatively on  Sue's  arm. 

Sue  patted  the  hand.  "  Ha-ha ! "  she  laughed. 
''  I  could  see  that  you  were  acting !  The  very  first 
minute  you  came  through  that  door — *  That  woman 
is  an  artist ' — that's  what  I  said  to  myself — '  a  great 
artist — in  her  line.'  For  you  can  act.  Oh,  Miss 
St.  Clair,  how  you  can  act !  " 

Tottie  seemed  to  grow  under  the  praise,  to 
lengthen  and  to  expand.  "  Well,  I  do  flatter  my- 
self that  I  have  talent,"  she  conceded.  "  I've  played 
with  the  best  of  'em.    And  as  I  say, " 

"  Exactly,"  agreed  Sue.  "  Now,  what  /  was 
about  to  remark  was  this:  We're  thinking  very 
seriously  of  traveling — several  of  us — yes.     And 


Apron-Strings  267 

before  we  go,  I  feel  that  I'd  like  you  to  have  a 
small  token  of  my  appreciation  of  what  you've 
done  for — for  Miss  Crosby — a  small  token  to  an 
artist " 

"  Dearie,"  interrupted  Tottie,  "  I  couldn't  think 
of  it." 

"  Oh,  just  a  little  something — for  being  so  kind 
to  her." 

**  Not  a  cent.  Y'  know,  I've  got  a  steady  income 
— yes,  alimony.  I'm  independent.  And  it's  so 
seldom  that  us  artists  git  appreciated.  No;  as  I 
say,  not  a  cent. — And  now,  I'll  make  my  exit.  It's 
been  a  real  pleasure  to  see  you  again."  She  backed 
impressively. 

"  The  pleasure's  all  mine,"  declared  Sue. 
"Good-by!" 

"  0-revour !  "  returned  Tottie,  elegantly.  She 
bowed,  swept  round,  and  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Milo  uncovered  her  face. 

Balcome  chuckled.  "  My  dear  Sue,"  he  said, 
"  when  it  comes  to  diplomacy,  our  United  States 
ambassador  boys  have  nothing  on  you ! " 

"  Oh,  don't  give  me  too  much  credit,"  Sue 
answered.  "  You  know,  people  are  never  as  bad 
as  they  pretend  to  be.     Now  even  you  and  Mrs. 


268  Apron-Strings 

Balcome — why,  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
you  two  enjoy  a  good  row !  " 

"  Ah,  that  reminds  me ! "  declared  Balcome. 
"  You  spoke  just  now  of  traveling.  And  I  think 
there's  a  devil  of  a  lot  in  that  travel  idea." 

"  Brother  Balcome ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Milo, 
finding  relief  from  embarrassment  in  being 
shocked. 

"Don't  call  me  Brother!"  he  cried.  "—Sue, 
ask  Mrs.  B.  if  she  wouldn't  like  to  get  away  to 
Europe. — And  you  could  go  with  her,  couldn't 
you?"  This  to  Mrs.  Milo,  before  whose  eyes  he 
held  up  a  check-book.  "What  would  you  say  to 
five  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

The  sight  of  that  check-book  was  like  a  tonic. 
Mrs.  Milo  smiled — and  rose,  setting  her  bonnet 
straight,  and  picking  at  the  skirt  of  her  dress. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Sue?  "  asked  Balcome. 

Sue  considered.  "  They  could  go  a  long  way  on 
five  thousand,"  she  returned  mischievously. 

"  And  I  need  a  change,"  put  in  her  mother ; 
" — after  twenty  years  of — of  widowed  responsi- 
bility." 

Balcome  waxed  enthusiastic.  "  I  tell  you,  it's  a 
great  idea!    You  two  ladies " 


Apron-Strings  269 

"  Leisurely  taking  in  the  sights/'  supplemented 
Sue. 

"That's  the  ticket!"  He  opened  the  check- 
book.    "  First,  England." 

"  Then  France."  Sue  was  the  picture  of 
demureness. 

**  Then  the  trenches!"     Balcome  winked. 

"  Italy  is  lovely,"  continued  Sue,  wickedly. 

"  Egypt — for  the  winter !  "  Balcome's  excite- 
ment mounted  as  he  saw  his  wife  farther  away. 

"  And  there's  the  Holy  Land." 

This  last  was  a  happy  suggestion.  For  Mrs. 
Milo  turned  to  Mrs.  Balcome,  clasping  eager  hands. 
"Ah,  the  Holy  Land!"  she  cried.  "Palestine! 
The  Garden  of  Eden!" 

Mrs.  Balcome  listened  calmly.  But  she  did  not 
commit  herself.  At  some  thought  or  other,  she 
pressed  Babette  close. 

"  Yes !  "  Balcome  took  Mrs.  Milo*s  elbow  con- 
fidentially.    "  And  think  of  Arabia !  " 

"  India !  " — it  was  Sue  again. 

"  China !  "  added  Balcome. 

"Japan!" 

"  The  Phil " 


"  Look  out  now !     Look  out ! 


ft 


270  Apron- Strings 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Matter?     You're  coming  up  the  other  side!" 

But  Mrs.  Milo  was  blissfully  unaware  of  this 
bit  of  byplay.  "  Do  you  think  Mrs.  Balcome  and 
I  could  make  such  an  extended  trip  on  five  thou- 
sand ?  "  she  asked. 

"Well,  I'll  raise  the  ante!— f^w  thousand." 
Balcome  took  out  a  fountain-pen. 

"  Oh,  think  of  it!  "  raved  Mrs.  Milo,  ecstatically. 
"  The  dream  of  my  life ! — Europe !  Africa !  Asia  I 
— Dear  Mrs.  Balcome,  what  do  you  say?  " 

"  We-e-e-ell,"  answered  Mrs.  Balcome,  slowly, 
"can  I  take  Babette?" 

In  his  eagerness,  Balcome  addressed  her  direct. 
"  Yes !    Yes !     I'll  buy  Babette  a  dog  satchel !  " 

"  I'll  go,"  declared  Mrs.  Balcome. 

Mrs.  Milo  was  all  gratitude.  "  Oh,  my  dear, 
thank  you!  And  we'll  get  ready  today! — Why 
not?  I  certainly  shan't  stay  here" — this  with  a 
glance  at  the  toy-strewn  bench.  "  Susan, — you 
must  pack." 

Sue  stared.     "  Oh,— do— do  I  go?  " 

"  Would  you  send  me,  at  my  age " 

"No!     No!"— hastily. 

"  And  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you'd  like 


Apron-Strings  271 

to  stay  behind !  '*  There  was  a  touch  of  the  old 
jealousy. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  wanted  me  to  go,  mother." 

"  Most  assuredly  you  go."  She  had  evidently 
forgotten  completely  her  threat  of  the  afternoon 
before.  Sue  had  disobeyed.  Yet  her  disobedience 
was  not  to  result  in  a  parting.  "  And  that  reminds 
me " — turning  to  Balcome,  who  was  scratching 
away  with  his  pen.     "  If  Sue  goes " 

Balcome  understood.  He  began  to  write  a  new 
check.     "  ril  make  this  twelve  thousand." 

Mrs.  Balcome  saw  an  opportunity.  "  Hattie,  do 
you  want  to  go?  "  she  asked.  She  looked  about  the 
Close.     "  Hattie !  " 

But  Hattie  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Milo  bustled  to  Balcome  to  take  the  check. 
"  I'll  get  the  reservations  at  once,"  she  declared. 
And  as  the  slip  of  paper  was  put  into  her  hand, 
"  Oh,  Brother  Balcome !  " 

"  Sister  Milo !  "  Balcome,  beaming,  crushed  her 
fingers  gratefully  in  his  big  fist. 

She  bustled  out,  taking  Mrs.  Balcome  with 
her. 

Balcome  kept  Sue  back.  "Of  course,  I  know 
that  you  won't  get  one  nickel  of  that  money,"  he 


272  Apron-Strings 

declared.  "  So  Fm  going  to  give  you  a  little  bunch 
for  yourself." 

"  But,  dear  sir, " 

"  Not  a  word  now !  Don*t  I  know  what  youVe 
done  for  me?  Why," — shaking  with  laughter— 
*'  Mrs.  B.  will  have  to  stay  in  England  six 
months." 

"Six?" 

"Sh!"— he  leaned  to  whisper— "  Babette !  Six 
months  is  the  British  quarantine  for  dogs ! " 
He  caught  her  hand,  and  they  laughed  immod- 
erately. 

Her  hand  free  again,  she  found  a  slip  of  paper 
in  it  "Five  thousand!  Oh,  no!  I  can't 
take  it!" 

"  Yes,  you  will !  Take  it  now  instead  of  letting 
me  will  it  to  you.  For  I'm  going  to  die  of  joy! 
You  see,  my  dear  girl,  you're  not  going  to  be  earn- 
ing while  you  travel.  And  you  can  use  it.  And 
you've  given  me  value  received.  You've  done 
me  a  whale  of  a  turn !  Please  let  me  do  this 
much." 

"  ril  take  it  if  you'll  let  me  use  some  of  it  for 
—for " 

"  You  mean  that  youngster  ?  " 


Apron-Strings  273 

"Would  you  mind  if  I  helped  the  mother?  " 

"  Say,  there's  no  string  tied  to  that  check.     Use 
it  as  you  like.  '  But  I  want  to  ask  you,   Sue, — 
just  curiosity — why  were  you  so  all-fired  nice  to 
that  Crosby  girl?" 
.  "  ril  tell  you.     But  you'll  never  peep?  " 

"  Cross  my  heart  to  die!  *' 

.  '*  She's  been  so  brave,  and  Fm  a  coward." 

"  That  you're  not,  by  Jingo !  " 

"  Let  me  explain.  She  couldn't  stand  conditions 
that  weren't  suited  to  her.  At  nineteen,  she  rebelled. 
I'm  not  going  to  say  that  she  didn't  also  do  wrong. 
But  she  was  so  young.    While  I — I  have  gone  on 

and  on,  knowing  in  my  secret  heart "     She 

choked,  and  could  not  finish. 

"  I  understand.  Sue.  It's  a  blamed  shame !  And 
you  can't  stop  now " 

"  I  shall  go  with  mother." 

"  Well,  if  you  find  that  young  woman  you  give 
her  as  much  of  that  five  thousand  as  you  want  to. 
And  if  you  need  more " 

"  Oh,  you  dear,  old.  fat  thing!  " 

He  put  his  arm  about  her.  She  leaned  her  fore- 
head against  his  shoulder. 

"There!    There!     You're  a  good  girl" 


274  Apron-Strings 

"  You're  a  man  in  a  million !  How  can  any 
woman  find  you  hard  to  live  with !  " 

"  Momsey ! "  Ikey  was  standing  beside  them. 
His  hair  was  disheveled,  his  face  white. 

"  Ikey  boy ! "  The  sight  of  him  made  her 
anxious. 

"  You — you  go  avay  ?  " 

"  We-e-ell, " 

"  A-a-a-ah !  '*  She  was  trying  to  break  it  gently. 
But  he  understood.  Two  small  begrimed  hands 
went  up  to  hide  his  face. 

She  drew  him  to  her.  "  But  I'll  come  back,  dear ! 
I'll  come  back !    Oh,  don't !     Don't !  "  * 

He  clung  to  her  wildly  then.  **  Oh,  how  can  I 
lif  midoudt  you!  Oh,  Momsey!  Momsey!  I 
nefer  sing  again !  " 

She  led  him  to  a  bench.  "  Now  listen ! "  she 
begged  gently.  "  Listen !  It's  only  for  a  little 
while." 

He  lifted  his  face.     "Yes?" 

"  Yes,  dear." 

That  comforted.  "Und  also,"  he  observed 
philosophically,  "  de  olt  lady,  she  goes  mit." 

"  Ikey !  "     Sue  sat  back,  displeased. 

"  Oh,  scuses !     Souses !  " 


Apron-Strings  275 

"  She's  my  mother/' 

"  You — you  suref  " 

"  Why,  Ikey !  "  she  cried,  astonished. 

"  Alvays  I — I  like  to  t'ink  de  oder  t'ing." 

"What  other  thing?" 

''  Dat  you  vas  found  in  de  basket." 

Balcome  laughed,  and  Sue  laughed  with  him. 
Even  Ikey,  guessing  that  he  had  inadvertently  been 
more  than  usually  witty,  allowed  a  smile  to  come 
into  those  wet  eyes. 

"  There ! "  cried  Sue,  putting  both  arms  about 
him.     "  Momsey  forgives." 

"  T'ank  you.  Und  now  I  like  to  question — you 
don't  go  avay  mit  de  preacher  ?  " 

"  No !     No !  "     Sue  blushed  Hke  a  girl. 

"  Den  you  don't  marry  mit  him." 

"N-n-n-n-no!" 

"  You  feel  better,  don't  you,  old  man  ?  "  inquired 
Balcome. 

"  Yes. — If  I  vas  growed  up,  I  vould  marry  mit 
her  myself." 

"  Now  little  flattering  chorister,"  said  Sue, 
"  there's  something  Momsey  wants  you  to  do. 
She'll  have  to  leave  here  very  soon.  And  before 
she  goes  she  wants  to  hear  that  splendid  voice  again. 


276  Apron-Strings 

So  you  go  to  the  choirmaster,  and  ask  him  if  he'll 
get  all  the  boys  together  for  Miss  Susan,  and  have 
them  sing  something — something  full  of  happiness, 
and  hope." 

"Momsey,  can  it  be  *  O  Mutter  Dear,  Jeru- 
salem?*'^ 

"Do  you  like  that  best?"  . 

"  I  like  it  awful  much !  De  first  part,  she  has 
Mutter  in  it ;  und — und  also  Jerusalem." 

Sue  kissed  him.  "  And  the  second  verse  Momsey 
likes 

*  O  happy  harbor  of  God's  Saints! 
O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil! 
In  Thee  no  sorrow  can  be  found, 
Nor  grief,  nor  care,  nor  toil! ' " 

"  It's  grand !  "  sighed  Ikey. 

"  You  ask  the  choirmaster  if  you  may  sing  it. 
And  if  he  lets  you " 

"  Goot ! "  He  started  away  bravely  enough. 
But  the  Church  door  reached,  he  turned  and  came 
slowly  back.  "  Momsey,"  he  faltered,  "  I  don't 
remember  my  mutter.  Vould  you,  now,  mind  if 
— just  vonce  before  you  go — if  I  called  you — 
mutter?" 


Apron-Strings  277 

She  put  out  her  arms  to  him.  '*  Oh,  my  son ! 
My  son ! '' 

With  a  cry,  he  flung  himself  into  her  embrace, 
weeping.     "  Oh,  mutter !     Mutter !     Mutter !  " 

"  Remember  that  mother  loves  you." 

"  Oh,  my  mutter,"  he  answered,  *'  Gott  take  fine 
care  of  you !  '* 

"  And  God  take  care  of  my  boy." 

He  sobbed,  and  she  held  him  close,  brushing 
at  the  tousled  head.  While  Balcome  paced  to 
and  fro  on  the  lawn,  and  coughed  suspiciously, 
and  blinked  at  the  sun.  "  Say,  Fve  got  an  idea," 
he  announced.  "  Listen,  young  man !  Come 
here." 

Gently  Sue  unclasped  the  hands  that  clung 
about  her  neck,  and  turned  the  tear-stained  face 
to   Balcome. 

"  Up  in  Buffalo,  in  my  business,  I  need  a  boy 
who  knows  how  to  keep  his  mouth  shut.  Now 
when  do  you  escape  from  this — this  asylum  ?  "  He 
swept  his  hat  in  a  wide  circle  that  included  the 
Rectory. 

Pride  made  Ikey  forget  his  woe.  "  Oh,"  he 
boasted,  "  I  can  go  venefer  I  like.  You  see,  my 
aunt,  she  only  borrows  me  here." 


278  Apron-Strings 

"Ah!  And  what  do  you  think  of  my  proposi-« 
tion?" 

Ikey  meditated.  "Veil,  I  ain't  crazy  to  stay 
here  mit  Momsey  gone.'* 

Balcome  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  thought 
you  wouldn't.  So  suppose  we  talk  this  over — eh? 
— man  to  man — while  we  hunt  the  choirmaster  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

When  they  were  gone,  Sue  looked  down  at  the 
check  in  her  hand.  Yesterday,  in  the  heat  of  a 
just  resentment,  she  had  boasted  a  new  freedom. 
What  had  come  of  it  was  twelve  hours  without 
the  presence  of  her  mother — twelve  hours  shared 
with  Hattie  and  Farvel. 

They  had  been  happy  hours,  for  strangely  enough 
Hattie  had  needed  little  cheering.  It  was  Farvel 
who  easily  accomplished  wonders  with  her.  Sue 
did  not  know  what  passed  between  the  clergyman 
and  the  bride-who-was-not-to-be  during  a  long  con- 
ference in  the  library.  She  had  heard  only  the  low 
murmur  of  their  voices.  And  once  she  had  heard 
Hattie  laugh.  When  the  two  finally  emerged,  it 
was  plain  that  Hattie  had  been  weeping,  and  Farvel 
was  noticeably  kind  to  her,  even  tender.  At  dinner 
he  was  unwontedly  cheerful,  relieved  at  the  whole 
solving  of  the  old,  sad  mystery,  though  worried  not 
a  little  by  Clarets  disappearance.     After  dinner  he 

279 


28o  Apron-Strings 

had  taken  himself  out  and  away  in  a  futile  search 
that  had  lasted  the  whole  night. 

But  happy  as  Sue  had  been  since  parting  with  her 
mother  at  Tottie's,  nevertheless  she  felt  strangely 
shaken,  as  if,  somehow,  she  had  been  swept  from 
her  bearings.  She  attributed  this  to  the  fact  that 
never  before  had  she  and  her  mother  spent  a  night 
under  different  roofs.  Until  Sue's  twenty-fourth 
birthday,  there  had  been  the  daily  partings  that  come 
with  a  girl's  school  duties.  (Sue  had  continued 
through  a  business  college  after  leaving  high 
school.)  But  beyond  the  short  trip  to  school  and 
back,  Mrs.  Milo  did  not  permit  her  daughter  to  go 
anywhere  alone,  urging  Sue's  youth  as  her  excuse. 

They  shopped  together;  they  sat  side  by  side  in 
the  Milo  pew  at  St.  Giles;  and  after  Sue's  six- 
teenth birthday,  though  Wallace  might  have  to  be 
left  at  home  with  his  father,  Mrs.  Milo  did  not 
permit  her  daughter  to  accept  invitations,  even  to 
the  home  of  a  girl  friend,  unless  she  herself  was 
included.  It  was  said — and  in  praise  of  Mrs.  Milo 
— that  here  was  one  woman  who  took  "  good  care 
of  her  girl." 

When  Horatio  Milo  died  (an  expert  accountant, 
he  had  no  resistance  with  which  to  combat  a  sudden 


Apron-Strings  281 

illness  that  was  aggravated  by  a  wound  received  in 
the  Civil  War),  Mrs.  Milo  clung  more  closely  than 
ever — if  that  was  possible — to  Sue.  To  the  daugh- 
ter, this  was  explained  by  her  mother's  pathetic 
grief;  and  by  her  dependence.  For  Sue  was  now, 
all  at  once,  the  breadwinner  of  the  little  family. 

At  this  juncture,  Mrs.  Milo  pleaded  hard  in  be- 
half of  an  arrangement  for  earning  that  would  not 
take  her  daughter  from  her  even  through  a  short 
business  day.  Sue  met  her  mother's  wishes  by  set- 
ting up  an  office  in  the  living-room  of  their  small 
apartment.  Here  she  took  some  dictation — ^her 
mother  seated  close  by,  busy  with  her  sewing,  but 
not  too  busy  to  be  graciousness  itself  to  those 
men  and  women  who  desired  Sue's  services.  There 
was  copying  to  be  done,  too.  The  girl  became  a 
sort  of  general  secretary,  her  clients  including  an 
author,  a  college  professor,  and  a  clergyman. 

Thus  for  six  years.  Then,  at  thirty  years  of  age, 
she  went  to  fill  the  position  at  the  Rectory.  Her 
father  had  been  a  vestryman  of  the  Church,  and 
she  had  been  christened  there — as  a  small,  freckle- 
faced  girl  in  pigtails,  fresh  from  a  little  village  in 
northern  New  York. 

And  now,  at  this  day  that  was  so  late,  Sue  knew 


282  Apron-Strings 

that  between  her  and  her  mother  things  could  never 
again  be  as  they  had  been.  Their  differences  lay 
deep:  and  could  not  be  adjusted.  Mrs.  Milo  had 
always  demanded  from  her  daughter  the  unques- 
tioning obedience  of  a  child;  she  would  not — and 
could  not — alter  her  attitude  after  so  many  years. 

But  there  was  a  reason  for  their  parting  that  was 
more  powerful  than  any  other :  down  from  its  high 
pedestal  had  come  the  image  of  Mrs.  Milo  that  her 
daughter  had  so  long,  and  almost  blindly,  cherished. 
All  at  once,  as  if  indeed  her  eyes  had  been  suddenly 
and  miraculously  opened,  Sue  understood  all  the 
hypocrisy  of  her  mother's  gentleness,  the  affection 
that  was  only  simulated,  the  smiles  that  were  only 
muscle  deep. 

How  it  had  all  happened,  Sue  as  yet  scarcely 
knew.  But  in  effect  it  had  been  like  an  avalanche 
— an  avalanche  that  is  built  up,  flake  by  flake,  over 
a  long  period,  and  then  gives  way  through  even  so 
light  a  touch  as  the  springing  to  flight  of  a  moun- 
tain bird.  The  Milo  avalanche — it  was  made  up  of 
countless  small  tyrannies  and  scarcely  noticeable  acts 
of  selfishness  adroitly  disguised.  But  touched  into 
motion  by  Mrs.  Milo's  frank  cruelty,  it  had  swept 
upon  the  two  women,  destroying  all  the  falsities  that 


Apron-Strings  283 

had  hitherto  made  any  thought  of  separation  im- 
possible. As  Sue  fingered  the  check,  she  reahzed 
that  her  Hfe  and  her  mother's  had  been  changed. 
It  was  likely  that  they  might  go  on  living  together. 
Though  they  were  two  women  who  belonged  apart. 

"  Why,  Miss  Susan," — Farvel  had  come  across 
the  lawn  to  her  noiselessly — "  what's  this  I  hear  ? 
That  youVe  going  away." 

She  rose,  a  little  flurried.  '*  I — I  suppose  I 
must." 

"  And  youVe  bought  all  these  for — for  the  child," 
he  added,  catching  sight  of  the  dolls  and  toys. 

"  It'll  be  nice  to  give  them  to  her.  But  I'd  hoped 
I  could  be  near  Barbara  for  a  long  time  to  come. 
I  hoped  /  could  help  to  make  up  to  the  little  one 
for — for  anything  she's  lacked."  She  shook  her 
head.  "  But  you  see,  my  mother  depends  on  me 
so.  She  wouldn't  go  without  me.  She's  too  old 
to  go  just  with  Mrs.  Balcome.     And — and  if  it's 

my  duty "     At  her  feet  was  that  box  which 

Mrs.  Balcome  had  thrown  down  on  hearing  that  it 
contained  something  which  should  be  put  upon  ice. 
Sue  picked  the  box  up  and  began  to  undo  the 
string. 

Farvel  stood  in  silence  for  a  little.     Then,  finally, 


284  Apron-Strings 

"  I — I  want  to  tell  you  something  before  you  go. 
Fm  afraid  it  will  surprise  you.  And — and " — 
coloring  bashfully — "I  hardly  know  how  to 
begin." 

"  Ye-e-es  ?  "  Sue  was  embarrassed,  too,  and  hid 
her  confusion  by  taking  from  the  box  a  bride's 
bouquet  that  was  destined  not  to  figure  in  any  mar- 
riage ceremony.  At  sight  of  the  flowers,  her  em- 
barrassment grew. 

Farvel  began  to  speak  very  low. — "  After  Laura 
left,  I  didn't  think  of  a  second  marriage — not  even 
when  her  brother  had  the  divorce  registered.  I  felt 
I  couldn't  settle  down  again  and  be  happy  when  I 
didn't  know  her  fate.  She  might  be  alive,  you  see. 
And  I  am  an  Episcopal  clergyman.  Still — I  wasn't 
contented.  I  had  my  dreams — of  a  home,  and  a 
wife "     He  paused. 

"  A  wife  who  would  really  care,"  she  said. 

"  Yes.  And  a  woman  /  could  love.  Because,  I 
know  I'm  to  blame  for  Laura's  going — oh,  yes,  to 
a  very  great  extent.  I  didn't  love  her  enough.  If 
I  had,  she  never  would  have  left — never  would  have 
done  anything  to  hurt  me.  If  I  were  to  marry 
again,  it  would  have  to  be  someone  T  cared  for  a 
great  deal.     That's  what  I — I  want  to  plead  now 


Apron-Strings  285 

when  I  tell  you — when  I  confess.  I  want  to  plead 
that  this  new  love  I  feel  is  so  great — almost  beyond 
my — my  power,  Miss  Susan." 

She  did  not  look  at  him.  The  bouquet  in  her 
hand  trembled. 

He  went  on.  "  I  oughtn't  to  find  it  hard  to  tell 
you  anything.  Fve  always  felt  that  there  was 
such  sympathy  between  us.  As  if  you  under- 
stand me;  and  I  would  never  fail  to  understand 
you." 

"  I  have  feh  it,  too." 

Now  she  lifted  her  eyes — but  to  the  windows  of 
the  drawing-room.  From  the  nearest,  a  face  was 
quickly  withdrawn — her  mother's.  She  stepped 
back,  widening  the  distance  between  herself  and 
Farvel. 

"  Susan ! "  It  was  Mrs.  Milo,  calling  as  if 
from  a  distance. 

Instantly,  Farvel  also  fell  back.  And  scarcely 
knowing  why  she  did  it,  Sue  put  the  bride's  bouquet 
behind  her. 

Mrs.  Milo  came  out.  Her  eyes  had  a  peculiar 
glitter,  but  her  voice  was  gentle  enough.  "  Susan 
dear,  why  do  you  go  flying  away  just  when  you're 
wanted  ?    Why  don't  you  come  and  help  your  poor 


286  Apron-Strings 

motherkins  as  you  promised  ?  You  don't  want  me 
to  do  everything?" 

"  No,  mother." 

"  Then  please  go  at  once  and  help  Mrs.  Balcome 
with  the  packing.  My  things  go  into  the  two  small 
wardrobe  trunks.  You'll  have  to  use  that  big  trunk 
that  was  your  dear  father's.     Now  hurry !  " 

"Yes,  mother."  Sue  attempted  a  detour,  the 
bouquet  still  out  of  her  mother's  sight. 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  conceal,  dear  ?  " 

"  It's— it's  Hattie's  bouquet." 

A  look  of  mingled  fear  and  resentment — a  look 
that  Sue  understood ;  next,  breathing  hard,  "  What 
are  you  doing  with  it?  You  don't  want  it!  Give 
it  to  me !  "  Mrs.  Milo  caught  the  tlowers  from  her 
daughter's  hands  and  threw  them  upon  the  grass. 
"  Now  go  and  do  what  I've  asked  you  to ! "  She 
pointed. 

Sue  glanced  at  Farvel,  who  was  staring  at  the 
elder  woman  in  amazed  displeasure.  "  I'll  be 
back,"  she  said  significantly.  There  was  a  trace  of 
yesterday's  rebellion  in  her  manner  as  she  went  out. 

As  the  drawing-room  door  closed,  Mrs.  Milo's 
manner  also  underwent  a  change.  She  hastened  to 
Farvel,  her  eyes   brimming  with   tears,   her  lips 


Apron-Strings  287 

trembling.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Farvel,"  she  cried,  "  she*s 
all  I've  got  in  this  world.  She's  the  very  staff  of 
my  life!  And  my  heart  it  set  on  her  going  abroad 
with  me!  It'll  be  an  expensive  trip,  but  I'm  an 
old  woman,  Mr.  Farvel,  and  I  can't  take  that  long 
journey  without  Sue!  I  know  you're  against  me 
for  what  I  did  yesterday — for  what  I  said  to  your 
wife.  But  I  felt  she'd  separate  me  from  Sue — 
that  she'd  put  Sue  against  me.  And,  oh,  don't 
punish  me  for  it!  Don't  take  my  daughter  away 
from  me!  Oh,  don't!  Don't!"  She  caught  at 
his  hand,  broke  down  completely,  and  sobbed. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Milo ! "  exclaimed  Farvel,  not 
understanding.  "What  do  you  mean? — take  her 
away  ?  " 

"  I  mean  marry  her ! — Oh,  she's  my  main  hold 
on  life!" 

He  laughed.  *'  My  dear,  dear  lady,  I  haven't 
the  least  intention  in  the  world  of  asking  your 
daughter  to  marry  me." 

"  No  ?  "     She  stopped  her  weeping. 

"  None  whatever.  How  can  I  marry — while 
Laura  is  alive  ?  " 

"  And — and  " — doubtfully — "  you  don't  even — 
love  her?" 


288  Apron-Strings 

"  Will  it  make  your  mind  entirely  easy  if  I  tell 
you  that  I — I  care  for  someone  else  ?  "  He  blushed 
like  a  boy. 

"Oh,  Alan  Farvel,  Fm  so  glad!  So  glad!" 
Her  gratitude  was  spontaneous.  "  And  I  wish  you 
could  marry!  You  deserve  the  very  best  kind  of 
a  wife!" 

"  You  flatter  me." 

"  Not  at  all !  You're  a  good  man.  You'd  make 
some  girl  very  happy.  Fve  always  said,  '  What  a 
pity  Mr.  Farvel  isn't  a  married  man ' — not  know- 
ing, of  course,  that  you'd  ever  been  one. — Could  I 
trouble  you  to  hand  me  that  bouquet?  " 

"  Certainly."  Farvel  picked  up  the  bride's  bou- 
quet from  where  she  had  thrown  it  and  gave  it  to 
her. 

"  Thank  you.  A  moment  ago,  I  found  the  per- 
fume of  it  quite  overpowering.  But  the  blossoms 
are  lovely,  aren't  they? — So  you  do  care  for 
someone  ?  And  " — she  smiled  in  her  best  play- 
fully teasing  manner — "  is  the  *  someone '  a 
secret  ?  " 

"  Well, " 

'*  Ah,  you  don't  want  to  tell  me !  Fm  an  old  lady, 
Mr.  Farvel;  I  know  how  to  keep  a  secret." 


Apron-Strings  289 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  Though  you're  go- 
ing to  think  very  badly  of  me." 

"  Badly  ?  For  being  in  love  ? — You  will  have  to 
wait." 

"  For  being  in  love  with  a  certain  young  lady." 

"  Ho-ho !  That's  very  unlikely.  Now,  who  is 
it  ?  I'm  all  eagerness ! "  She  smiled  at  him 
archly. 

He  waited  a  moment ;  then,  "  I  love  Hattie 
Balcome." 

''Hattie?"  She  found  it  impossible  of  compre- 
hension. 

"  Hattie." 

"  Well,— that  is— news." 

He  bowed,  a  little  surprised.  He  had  expected 
anger  and  vituperation. 

"  Of  course,  my  son But  as  that  can't  be. 

And  Sue — does  Sue  know  ?  " 

**  I  was  just  about  to  tell  her." 

She  turned,  calling :  "  Susan !     Susan !    Sus2Ji !  " 

There  was  a  rustle  at  the  door — a  smothered 
laugh.  Sue  appeared.  "  Who  calls  the  Queen  of 
Lower  Egypt  ?  "  she  hailed  airily,  striking  an  atti- 
tude. She  had  changed  her  dress.  This  was  the 
"  other  one  "  given  her  by  Balcome — a  confection 


290  Apron-Strings 

all  silver  and  chiffon.  And  this  was  Sue  at  her 
youngest. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  cried  her  mother,  "  it's  lovely !  " 

Startled  by  the  unexpected  admiration,  Sue  re- 
laxed the  pictorial  attitude.  "  You — you  really  like 
it,  mother?" 

"  I  think  it's  adorable! "  vowed  Mrs.  Milo.  "  A 
perfect  dream! — Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Farvel?" 

He  smiled.  "  I've  never  seen  Miss  Susan  look 
more  charming,"  he  declared. 

His  compliment  heightened  the  color  in  Sue's 
cheeks.  "  I — I  just  happened  across  it,"  she  ex- 
plained, "  so  I  thought  I'd  try  it  on." 

Mrs.  Milo  prepared  to  go.  *'  By  the  way, 
Susan,"  she  said.  "I've  changed  my  mind  about 
Europe." 

"  You're  not  going?  "     Sue  looked  pleased. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  going.  But — I've  decided  not  to 
take  you." 

"  Oh."  Sue  looked  down,  that  her  mother  and 
Farvel  might  not  guess  at  her  relief  and  her  happi- 
ness. 

Her  mother  went  on :  "  It's  quite  true  what  you 
said  yesterday.  You  have  been  tied  to  me  too 
closely.     We  need  a  change  from  each  other."     She 


Apron-Strings  291 

spoke  with  great  gentleness.  Smiling  at  Sue,  the 
elder  woman  noted  how  cruelly  the  bright  sunlight 
of  the  Close  brought  out  all  the  lines  in  her  daugh- 
ter's face,  emphasized  the  aging  of  the  throat  and 
the  graying  of  the  hair. 

"  Besides/'  continued  the  silvery  voice,  "  it  would 
be  a  very  expensive  trip — with  four  in  the  party." 

"Four?" 

"  Poor  dear  Wallace,  Tm  going  to  take  him  with 
me  His  happiness  is  ruined,  and  where  would  he 
go  without  me?  Not  to  Peru — alone.  I  couldn't 
permit  that.  He  is  absolutely  broken-hearted.  I 
must  try  to  heal  his  wound. — Oh,  Tm  not  criti- 
cizing the  way  Hattie  has  treated  him.  But  his 
mother  must  not  be  the  one  to  fail  him  now, — the 
darling!" 

"  I  want  you  to  make  any  arrangement,  any 
decision,  that  will  mean  comfort  and  happiness  to 
you  and  Wallace,"  said  Sue.  And  felt  all  at  once 
a  sudden,  new,  sweet  sense  of  freedom. 

"  And  I  feel  that  Mrs.  Balcome  and  I  will  need 
a  man  along,"  added  Mrs.  Milo.  "  If  you  were  to 
go  also " 

**  I  am  just  as  satisfied  not  to." 

" — It  would  take  more  money  than  we  shall  have. 


292  Apron-Strings 

And  as  Hattie's  mother  is  going,  doubtless  Hattie 
will  be  glad  enough  to  have  you  here  to  chaperone 
her." 

"  Yes." 

"  But  then  do  anything  you  like.  You'll  remem- 
ber that  yesterday  you  twitted  me  about  having  to 
be  waited  on.  I'll  prove  to  you,  my  dear,  that  I 
can  get  on  without  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Sue,  again.  "  And  for  what  it  would 
cost  to  take  me,  you  can  hire  the  best  of  attention." 

"  That's  true,  though  I  hadn't  thought  of  it.  But 
for  a  woman  of  my  years,  I'm  very  active.  I  need 
no  attention,  really. — Just  see,  will  you,  if  there  isn't 
a  hook  loose  here  on  this  shoulder  ?  Mrs.  Balcome 
was  downstairs  when  I  dressed." 

Sue  looked.     "  It's  all  right,  mother  dear." 

"  And  this  bonnet " — she  gave  it  a  petulant 
twitch — "  you  know  it's  heavier  on  one  side  than 
the  other.  I  told  you  that  when  you  were  mak- 
ing it." 

"  I'm  sorry,  mother."  Sue  adjusted  the  bonnet 
with  deft  hands. 

"  And  now  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  do !  "  It 
was  like  a  dismissal  of  Sue.  Two  things  had  come 
between  them:  on  Sue's  part,  it  was  the  sudden 


Apron-Strings  293 

knowledge  of  her  mother's  character — of  its  depths 
and  its  shallows;  while  on  the  part  of  the  elder 
woman,  it  was  injured  pride,  and  never-to-be-for- 
gotten mortification. 

Mrs.  Milo  floated  away  to  the  door.  **  And  Mr. 
Farvel  has  a  great  secret  to  tell  you,"  she  chirped 
as  she  went;  " — a  wonderful  secret."  She  turned 
to  blink  both  eyes  at  the  clergyman  roguishly. 
"  He's  going  to  confess  to  you."  Then  she  held  out 
the  bride's  bouquet,  and  with  such  a  peremptory 
gesture  that  Sue  came  to  take  it  from  her.  Next 
she  shook  a  finger  at  Farvel.  "  Now  out  with  it, 
Alan !  "  she  commanded. 

"Alan!"  gasped  Sue,  under  her  breath.  She 
gave  her  mother  a  tiny  push.  "  Yes,  go,  mother  I 
Hurry !     You're  wanted  at  the  telephone !  " 

"  I'm  wanted  at  the  steamship  office,"  answered 
Mrs.  Milo.  "  Oh,  think  of  it !— Egypt !  The  Holy 
Land !    The  Garden  of  Eden !  " 

Left  alone,  both  Farvel  and  Sue  found  the  mo- 
ment embarrassing.  She  went  back  to  the  sun-dial, 
picking  at  the  flowers  of  the  bouquet.  He  stood 
apart,  hands  rammed  in  pockets. 

Presently,  "Well,  I — I  don*t  have  to  go  to 
Europe."     She  smiled  at  him  shyly. 


294  Apron-Strings 

"  No.     That's— that's  good/' 

"  And — and  when  I  went  out  you — you  were 
saying " 

It  helped  him.  "  I  was  trying  to — to  make  a 
clean  breast  of  something,"  he  began,  faltering. 
"  But — but — oh,  she  can  tell  you  best."  He  looked 
up  at  the  window  of  his  study.  "  Hattie ! "  he 
called.     "Hattie!" 

"  Yes,  Alan! "  A  rose  fell  upon  the  grass;  then 
Hattie  looked  down  at  them,  radiant  and  laughing, 
her  fair  hair  blowing  about  her  face. 

"  Come  here,  little  woman." 

"  All  right."     The  fair  head  disappeared. 

"  Hattie !  "     Sue  was  like  one  in  a  dream. 

"  You're — you're  shocked.     But  wait " 

"  No — no.  That  is, — not  the  way  you  mean." 
Then  as  the  truth  came  to  her,  she  went  unsteadily 
to  a  bench,  sat,  and  leaned  her  head  on  a  hand. 
Now  she  understood  why  her  mother  was  willing 
to  leave  her  behind! 

Hattie  came  tearing  across  the  grass  to  her. 
"Oh,  Sue!  Oh,  you're  crying!  Oh,  dear  Sue, 
you're  crying ! "  She  knelt,  her  arms  about  the 
elder  woman. 

"Of     course     I'm     crying,"     answered     Sue. 


Apron-Strings  295 

"  That's  what  I  always  do  when  I — I  see  that 
someone   is   happy." 

"Oh,  Sue!  Sue!"  The  girl  clung  to  her. 
"  Don't  think  too  badly  of  me.  It  came  out  last 
night — when  Alan  and  I  were  talking.  I  told  him 
I  didn't  love  Wallace  the  way  I  should — oh,  Sue, 
you  know  I  never  have — and  that  it  was  because  I 
loved  someone  else.  And,  oh,  he  grew  so — so  white 
— he  was  so  hurt — and  I  told  him — I  had  to.  It 
just  poured  out  of  my  soul,  Sue.  It  had  been  kept 
in  so  long." 

"  You  darling  girl ! "  They  clung  to  each  other, 
murmuring. 

"  Now  you  know  why  I  was  so — so  broken  up 
yesterday,"  explained  Farvel.  "  It  wasn't — Laura. 
It  was  Hattie." 

"  Oh,  weVe  cared  for  each  other  from  the  first ! " 
confessed  Hattie.  "  And  we've  settled  how  it  is 
all  going  to  be.  I'll  stay  in  New  York,  where  we 
can  be  near  each  other,  and  see  each  other  now 
and  then — oh,  we  shall  be  only  friends,  Sue.  But 
I'd  rather  have  his  friendship  than  the  love  of  any 
other  man  I've  ever  known.  And  we'll  be  patient. 
And  if  we  can't  ever  be  more  than  friends,  we'll 
be  glad  just  for  that.     See  how  happy  you've  been, 


296  Apron-Strings 

Sue,  with  no  one — all  these  years.  And  here  I  shall 
have  Alan." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  girl ! "  exclaimed  Sue.  She 
stroked  the  bright  hair.     *'  Ah,   my   dear  girl ! " 

"  Oh,  Sue,  you  mean  you  haven't  been  happy  ? 
Why  don't  you  marry?  " 

Sue  laughed.  "If  What  an  idea!  Why,  I 
don't  think  I've  ever  even  had  the  thought.  Any- 
how, the  years  have  gone — the  inclination  is  gone, 
if  it  ever  was  there.  I'm  too  old."  Then  with 
sudden  and  passionate  earnestness,  "  But  you  two." 
She  rose  and  took  each  by  a  nand,  and  led  them  to 
the  dial.  "  Read !  Read  what  is  written  in  the 
stone ! — Tempus  Fugit — time  flies !  Oh,  take  your 
happiness  while  you  can!  Don't  wait.  Oh,  don't! 
— We  must  find  a  way  somehow.  The  Church — 
we  must  see  the  proper  authorities — oh,  it  isn't 
right  that  you  two  should  be  punished " 

"  Momsey !  "  Peter,  the  pale,  was  calling  from 
the  drawing-room  door.  "  There's  a  gentle- 
man  " 

A  man  appeared  behind  the  boy,  and  pushed  past 
into  the  Close — a  young  man,  unshaven  and  hag- 
gard, with  bloodshot  eyes. 

"  Is  there  something  I  can  do  for  you  ?  "  asked 


Apron-Strings  297 

Farvel,  quickly.  He  hastened  toward  the  visitor, 
who  looked  as  if  he  had  suddenly  gone  mad. 

"  Hull  is  my  name,"  announced  the  man; 
"—Felix   Hull." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Sue,  eagerly.  She  signed  to 
Hattie  to  go,  and  the  girl  hastened  away  through 
the  door  under  the  wedding-bell. 

"  You  have  news?  "  questioned  Farvel. 

Hull  crossed  the  lawn  to  the  dial.  He  walked 
slowly,  like  an  old  man.  And  his  shoulders  were 
bent.  His  derby  hat  was  off,  and  he  clutched  it 
in  two  shaking  hands. 

"  Tell  us,"  bade  Sue.     "  It's— bad  news  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Take  your  time,"  she  added  kindly. 

"  Yesterday — just  before  you  saw  her — I  was 
there.  She  was — well,  you  know.  She  begged  me 
to  go — and  keep  away  from  the  house.  That  made 
me  suspicious.  I  told  her  I  wouldn't  come  back. 
Well,  I  didn't.  Because  I  never  left.  I  knew  she 
wasn't  telling  me  the  truth — I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 
— So  I  hung  around.  I  saw  you  all  go  in.  After 
a  little,  I  saw  her  come  out — on  the  run.  I  fol- 
lowed.    She  went  about  twenty  blocks " 

"Where?" 


298  Apron-Strings 

"  You're  Miss  Milo,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Susan  Milo." 

"  She  spoke  of  you — oh,  so — so  loving.  Well,  it 
was  a  girl's  club — called  the  Gramercy.  I  knew 
it  well  because  we'd  met  there  many  a  time.  I 
went  in.  There  was  a  new  maid  on  hand,  but 
I  saw  Clare.  She  came  right  away,  like  as  if  she 
was  more  than  glad  to  have  a  talk.  I  didn't  expect 
that,  so  I'd  brought  along  a  canary — to  make  her 
think  it  was  hers — the  one  she'd  left  behind,  you 
see, — so  she  couldn't  just  refuse  to  see  me.  Well, 
we  talked.  There  wasn't  any  quarreling.  She 
wasn't  a  bit  broke  up — that  surprised  me.  And  it 
threw  me  clean  off  my  guard.  She  was  highty- 
tighty,  as  you  might  say,  and  I'll  admit  it  hurt. 
We  shook  hands  though,  when  I  went,  but  she 
didn't  ask  me  to  stay  to  tea."  He  turned  to  Farvel. 
"One  thing  she  said  about  the  child  she  wanted 
you  to  know." 

"What?" 

"  It's  not  your  daughter,  sir." 

"  Ah." 

"And  I  hear  from  the  St.  Clair  woman  that 
the  little  one  isn't  as  old  as  Clare  said.     So " 

"  I  understand." 


Apron-Strings  299 

"  Well,  this  morning,  when  I  woke  up — I  didn't 
sleep  much  to  speak  of  last  night — I  got  to  thinking 
about — her.  And  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I'd  go 
look  her  up,  and — and  be  a  friend  to  her  anyhow." 
His  voice  broke.     "  I  was  fond  of  her,  Miss  Milo." 

"  She  was  gone  ?  " 

He  nodded.  "  She'd  been  gone  since  the  night 
before.  Went  out,  the  maid  said,  with  no  hat  on 
and  a  letter  in  her  hand — for  the  post.  And  she 
hadn't  come  back.  I  tell  you,  that  worried  me.  I 
was  hal  f -crazy  "  He  tried  to  control  his  voice,  to 
keep  back  the  tears. 

"  Then  it's  very  bad  news,"  ventured  Farvel.  He 
laid  a  hand  on  the  other  man's  sleeve. 

"  I  went  over  to  the  St.  Clair  house,"  Hull  went 
on.  "  Clare  hadn't  been  there.  Then — I  knew. 
So  I  went  to  the  one  place — that  was  likely " 

"  You  mean "  asked  Farvel.     "  Oh,  not  that ! 

Not  that!" 

"  She  was  there.  She'd  spoken  about  the  river. 
That's  why  I  was  sure." 

"  The  river !  "  gasped  Sue.  "  Oh,  what  are  you 
saying  ?  " 

"  She'd  done  as  she  said,"  answered  Hull, 
quietly. 


300  Apron-Strings 

Sue  sank  to  a  bench.  "  Oh,  that  cry  of  hers, 
yesterday !  "  she  reminded,  breaking  down.  "  Do 
you  remember,  Mr.  Farvel?  When  she  saw  you — 
*  It's  all  over!  It's  all  over ! '  Oh,  why  did  I  let 
her  out  of  my  sight !  " 

"  It's  my  fault,"  declared  Hull,  hoarsely.  "  I  was 
too  hard  on  her.    Too  hard."    He  turned  away. 

Farvel  went  to  him  and  held  out  his  hand.  Hull 
took  it,  and  they  stood  in  silence  for  a  long  moment. 
Then  Hull  drew  back.  There  was  a  queer,  dis- 
torted smile  on  his  face.  "  This  comes  of  a  man's 
thinking  he's  smart,"  he  declared.  "  I  wanted  to 
show  her  I  was  on — instead  of  letting  her  explain 
it  all  to  me.  But  I've  always  been  like  that — too 
smart — too  smart."  He  turned  and  went  out, 
walking  unsteadily. 

It  was  Sue  who  broke  the  news  to  Hattie.  And 
when  the  latter  had  left  to  rejoin  her  mother  at 
the  hotel  (for  it  was  agreed  that  it  would  be  better 
if  Farvel  and  the  girl  did  not  see  each  other  again 
until  later),  Sue  came  back  into  the  Close — to  wait 
for  Barbara. 

She  waited  beside  the  dial.  There  was  nothing 
girl-like  in  her  posture.     Her  shoulders  were  as 


Apron-Strings  301 

bent  as  Hull's  had  been.  The  high  color  was  gone 
from  her  face.  And  the  gray  eyes  showed  no  look 
of  youth.  She  felt  forsaken,  and  old,  and  there 
was  an  ache  in  her  throat. 

"  Well,  the  poor  trapped  soul  is  gone,"  she  said 
presently,  out  loud  to  herself.  She  looked  down  at 
the  dial.  *'  Time  is  not  for  her  any  more.  But 
rest — and  peace." 

What  changes  had  come  while  just  these  last 
twenty-four  hours  were  flying!  while  the  shadow 
on  that  dial  had  made  its  single  turn ! 

"  And  here  you  are,  Susan,  high  and  dry."  She 
had  wept  for  another;  she  laughed  at  herself. 
"  Here  you  are,  as  Ikey  says,  *  All  fixed  up,  und  by 
your  lonesomes.'  But  never  mind  any  lamentations, 
Susan."  For  her  breast  was  heaving  in  spite  of 
herself.  "  Your  hands  are  free — don't  forget  that! 
And  you  can  do  1-1-1-lots  of  helpful  things — for  your 
pocket  is  lined.  And  there  must  be  something 
ahead  for  you,  Susan !  There  must  be  s-s-s-some- 
thing!" 

"  Miss  Susan ! "  Someone  had  come  from  the 
drawing-room. 

''  Dora ! "  But  she  kept  her  face  turned  away, 
lest  she  betray  her  tears. 


302  Apron-Strings 

"  It  is  your  humble  servant,"  acknowledged  Dora. 

"  Well,  my  humble  servant,  listen  to  me :  I  want 
you  to  pack  my  things  into  that  old  trunk  of 
father's.  And  put  my  typewriter  into  its  case,  and 
screw  the  cover  down.  And  when  I  send  you  word, 
you'll  bring  both  to  me.  But — no  one  is  to  know 
where  you  come." 

Dora's  eyes  bulged  with  the  very  mystery  of  it — 
the  excitement.  '^  Miss  Susan,"  she  vowed  gravely, 
"  I  shall  follow  your  instructions  if  my  life  is 
spared! " 

"  And  now — bring  the  little  one." 

"  In  all  my  orphanage  experience,"  confided 
Dora,  delaying  a  moment  to  impart  this  important 
news,  "  I've  never  heard  so  much  mother-talk. 
Since  last  night,  she's  not  stopped  for  one  second! 
I  gave  her  a  hot  lemonade  to  get  her  to  sleep.  And 
she  was  awake  this  morning  when  it  was  still  dark. 
I  think" — with  feeling — "that  if  she  doesn't  get 

her  mother  pretty  soon,   she'll — she'll "     But 

words  failed  her.  She  wagged  her  head  and  went 
out. 

Sue  stood  for  a  moment,  looking  straight  before 
her,  her  eyes  wide  and  grave.  Presently,  a  smile 
lighted    them,    and    softened   all   her    face.      She 


Apron-Strings  303 

turned.  Her  hat  and  the  long  coat  were  on  the 
bench  with  the  toys.  She  went  to  put  them  on, 
buttoning  the  coat  carefully  over  the  silver  gown. 
Next,  she  took  from  a  pocket  the  ring  that  her 
brother  had  given  her.  She  held  it  up  for  the  sun 
to  shine  upon  it.  Then,  very  deliberately,  she 
slipped  it  upon  the  third  finger  of  her  left 
hand. 

A  movement  within  the  house,  a  patter  of  small 
feet  at  the  drawing-room  door,  and  Sue  turned. 
There  stood  a  little  girl  in  a  dress  of  faded 
gingham.  Down  her  back  by  a  string  hung  a 
shabby  hat.  But  her  shoes  were  new  and  shining. 
In  one  hand  she  carried  a  doll. 

She  glanced  up  and  around — at  the  ivy-grown 
wall  of  the  Church,  at  the  stained-glass  windows 
glowing  in  the  light,  at  the  darting  birds,  the 
wedding-bell,  the  massed  flowers  and  palms;  and 
down  at  the  grass,  so  neat  and  vividly  green,  and 
cool.     Last  of  all,  she  looked  at  Sue. 

Sue  knelt,  and  held  out  both  hands,  smilingly, 
invitingly;  then  waited,  dropping  her  arms  to  her 
sides  again. 

Barbara  came  nearer,  but  paused  once  more,  and 
the  brown  eyes  studied  the  gray.     This  for  a  long 


304  Apron- Strings 

moment,  when  the  child  smiled  back  at  Sue,  as  if 
reassured,  and  nodded  confidingly. 

"  Oh,  this  is  a  beautiful  garden,"  she  said. 
"  And  after  today,  Fm  going  to  live  where  there's 
flowers  all  the  time!  My  mother,  she's  come  back 
from  Africa.  My  father  hasn't,  because  he's  got 
to  hunt  lions.  But  my  mother  and  me,  we're  going 
to  live  in  a  little  cottage  in — in,  well,  some  place. 
And  there's  a  garden  a-a-all  around  the  cottage," 
— she  made  a  sweeping  gesture  with  one  short  arm 
— "  a  garden  of  roses !  And  I'm  going  to  have  my 
mother  every  day.  And  she  loves  me !  And  she's 
good,  and  brave,  and  sweet,  and  pretty." 

At  that  moment,  Sue  Milo  was  beautiful.  All 
the  tenderness  of  a  heart  starved  of  its  rightful 
love  looked  from  her  eyes.  And  her  face  shone 
as  if  lighted  by  a  flame.  ''  I — love  you !  "  she  said 
tremulously. 

"Do  you?" — ^there  was  an  answering  look  of 
love  in  the  eyes  of  the  child. 

"Oh,  ^0  tenderly!" 

The  little  face  sobered.  The  small  figure  moved 
forward  a  step.  "  Fm — Fm  glad  " — almost  under 
her  breath.  "  Because — because  I  love  you,  too." 
Then  coming  still  closer,  and  looking  earnestly  into 


Apron-Strings  305 

those  eyes  so  full  of  gentle  sweetness,  "Who — 
are — you?" 

"  Barbara," — Sue's  arms  went  out  again,  yearn- 
ingly— "  Barbara,  I — ^am  your  mother." 

**  Mother !  "—the  cry  rang  through  the  Close. 
The  child  flung  herself  into  those  waiting  arms, 
clasping  Sue  with  her  own.  "Oh,  mother! 
Mother !     Mother! " 

"My  baby!     My  baby!" 

Now  past  the  open  door  of  the  Church,  walking 
two  and  two  in  their  white  cottas,  came  the  choir. 
And  their  voices,  high  and  clear,  sang  that  verse 
of  Ikey's  song  which  Sue  loved  best — 

'*  O  happy  harbor  of  God's  Saints! 
O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil! 
In  Thee  no  sorrow  can  be  found, 
Nor  grief,  nor  care,  nor  toil! " 

Before  the  song  was  done,  Barbara's  hat  was 
on,  and  with  "  Lolly-Poppins  "  and  the  woolly  lamb 
under  an  arm;  with  Sue  similarly  burdened  with 
the  Kewpie,  the  new  doll,  and  the  duck  that  could 
quack,  the  two  went,  hand  in  hand,  across  the  lawn 
to  that  little  white  door  through  which  forsaken 
babies  had  often  come,   but  through  which  one 


3o6  Apron-Strings 

lovingly  claimed  was  now  to  go.  And  the  little 
white  door  opened  to  the  touch  of  Sue's  hand — and 
through  it,  to  a  new  life  and  a  new  happiness;  to 
service  sweet  beyond  words,  went  a  new  mother — 
and  with  her,  a  new-found  daughter. 

THE  END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN     INITIAL     FINE     OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE   ASSESSED    FOR    FAILURE   TO    RETURN 
THIS   BOOK  ON   THE  DATE  DUE.      THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY    AND    TO     $1.00    ON     THE    SEVENTH     DAY 
OVERDUE. 

DEC  27  1932 

AUG     8  1933 

OCT    3  1935 

l^pil  14  va3i 

l6Nov'i8Jgk 

MAY  0  C  2003 

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